


The Mostly True Story of John & Chris and How They Fell In Love

by catlyon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Argenski, Cockatrices, Fae & Fairies, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gay For You, Gay Romance, Hairy Man Butts, Lube, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Dad, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Shower Sex, Slow Build, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:36:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catlyon/pseuds/catlyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff John Stilinski has been a widower for nearly a decade. Werewolf hunter  and purveyor of weapons to law enforcement agencies, Chris Argent has been a widower for almost half a year. This is the story of how the two men became friends and how their friendship developed into something decidedly, enticingly, surprisingly more intimate than just friends. </p>
<p>Monster of the week is the Cockatrice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy Scouts & the Cockatrice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in many, many years, over a decade in fact. Xena/Gabby was the last time I wet my fanfic quill with ink. I may start off a little clumsy, but stick with me, eventually it's going to get scorching hot. I'm new to the Teen Wolf fandom, having only discovered it a couple of months ago, but it has buried it's way into my spleen and now there is no extricating it.
> 
> Also, Sheriff Stilinski does not yet have a first name on the show, but many (many) fanfics call him John and I've chosen to follow that custom. It might not be canon, but it seems to have become fanon.
> 
> This work is not beta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Barbed-claw talons thundered through the underbrush as the panting creatures wove their way through the tight spaces between trees in the crowded woods. Sturdy wings tucked tightly to their flanks, the two-legged beasts opened their sharp beaked mouths to hiss and cry as they charged from the Beacon Hills Preserve into the somnolent campground. Angrily the creatures tore at tents with their claws and battered camping supplies with their writhing tails. The sound of shotgun blasts could be heard nearby. Excited boy scouts and a handful of traumatized leaders extricated themselves from the tattered tents. They huddled together in small groups as they watched the beasts disappear into the surrounding woods.

 ____________________________________

Sheriff John Stilinski, handsome widower in his late 40's or possibly early 50's, surveyed the damaged campground and again asked himself what could have caused the destruction. Witnesses claimed to have seen everything from hippogriffs to dinosaurs rushing through the campground and tearing up the place. For Pete's sake, there had to be someone around who could give him a reliable account of what had happened.

“Sheriff!” he heard from the direction of the ambulances. Luckily no one had been badly hurt, but there were lots of little boys with cuts and bruises to keep the EMT's busy for a while. John turned towards the voice and spotted Chris Argent, a slender man slightly younger than himself, and local werewolf hunter. John reminded himself that Chris's wife had recently died, suicide according to the police reports.

“Chris. What can I do for you? You didn't happen to see what caused all this, did you?” The Sheriff gestured to the wreckage littering the ground.

Chris advanced closer to the Sheriff. A shotgun was slung over his shoulder and he looked worn, tired. “As a matter of fact I did. I've got one word for you Sheriff. Cockatrices. A whole nest of them.”

Chris's tone was matter-of-fact. John couldn't tell if that was going to make his job easier, or harder.

“Okay then, tell me what you know.” John could make out the shotgun was a 10-gage, and appeared to be have been used recently. That would probably account for the reports of shots fired.

“Something has been disturbing the deer for a couple of weeks. Something not a werewolf because I checked with Derek and he claimed no one from his pack has been in this area. He's careful to keep his pack away from the campgrounds and anywhere else they might be seen by civilians.” Chris wiped his hand over his face and then shoved it into the pocket of his coat.

John noticed Chris had lost weight since he'd last seen him. Circles under his eyes testified to trouble sleeping. It might not have been the kind of thing that everyone would notice, but John did. He was trained to see these types of details. Even more compelling though, he'd seen the same haunted expression in his own face when his wife had passed away several years ago.

“Right, so you decided to take a look yourself? Armed with a 10-gage. That's a lot of fire power for a walk in the woods.”

“Yes.” Chris's blue eyes stared right into John's. “I decided to have a look at what was causing the disturbances. I brought the 10-gage because I didn't know what I'd be coming up against. It's a lot of fire power, yes, but you never know what you'll find in the Beacon Hill Preserve in the middle of the night."

"Fair enough. So you were taking a well armed stroll through the woods. Then what?"

"Then I stumbled upon the cockatrices. They were already stampeding when I found them. I followed for a while.  When I realized they were headed for the campground I fired off a couple of shots into the air.” Chris looked around, taking in the destroyed campsites and frightened children. “I hoped to scare them away, and it seems like it worked.”

“That it did. You probably saved these kids from a hell of a lot worse.”

Chris didn't smile exactly, but his face lost some of its tension.

John continued. “So what in god's creation is a cockatrice?”

“Funny you should mention god, because cockatrices are mentioned several times in the Christian bible. They are bird-like creatures, about the size of a large ostrich. They usually run in groups called a nest or a brood. I would say they look like a giant rooster with a snake's tail. And they run fast.”

“Huh, giant roosters with snake tails. I guess the main thing is how do we catch them and how do we kill them?”

“I'm still working on that Sheriff. You might ask Dr. Deaton if he has any information. I'll check my resources. What really concerns me though, is what is riling them up? What is making them stampede in the first place?”

“That's a good question Chris. Keep me informed.”

“Will do Sheriff.”

John took a long look around the scene, taking it in, mentally preparing the report he would have to write and wondering how much sleep he'd be getting himself. Probably not as much as he hoped.

  ____________________________________

John stood at the packed bleachers looking for a seat. It was the first lacrosse game of the season and everyone wanted to show their support. As his eyes flitted over the fans he spotted Chris Argent. As soon as Chris noticed the Sheriff he stood and waved him over.

“There's space here.” Chris called as he and Melissa McCall made room for John to squeeze in. John knew Melissa's son Scott and Chris's daughter Allison had been dating off and on for a while and felt a little relief that the two parents seemed to be getting along these days.

“Hey Melissa. Thanks Chris. Where's Allison?” John asked as he scooted between the two other parents.

Chris pointed towards the bottom of the bleachers. “She's with Lydia and a few other friends.”

“She looks good.” The Sheriff responded. “How's she doing these days?”

“It's not easy, but she's adjusting. I was just telling Mellisa here how much help Scott's been.” Chris glanced over at Melissa. “I admit, I didn't think he had it in him, but he's been a real rock for Allison since her mom passed.”

Melissa smiled.

“Well you know he has experience.” John turned to Melissa. “When my wife Claudia passed away, Scott was over every day, comforting Stiles. Making him come out of his room, making him talk. And it worked too." John added with a chuckle. "If you noticed, Stiles hasn't closed his mouth since.”

“Scott's got his problems like any teenager." Melissa admitted. "I know it's easy to underestimate him, but he's not such bad kid once you get to know him.” Maternal pride filled her voice.

At the end of the third quarter Melissa left for a bathroom break.

“It's good Allison's doing so well.” John said, not sure what he wanted to say.

“Yeah.” Chris answered. “Yeah, it is.”

Subtlety wasn't John's greatest strength so he just plowed ahead. “It's hard, I know. Kids are more resilient than we give them credit for. What about you though? How are you holding up?”

Chris's face was strained and tense. “About as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

“Yeah . . . I spent at least a couple of years doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. Sucks doesn't it?”

“That it does.” Chris looked over at the Sheriff. “Does it get any easier? I know they say time heals all wounds, but this . . . this doesn't feel like it's going away anytime soon.”

“It does hurt less after a while. Like five years. You get so you can breathe again, and you don't expect to see her when you come home. And eventually you can sleep again, but the dreams still come. Hell, it's been almost a decade for me, and I still dream about Claudia.”

“Yeah.” Chris dropped his head into his hands. “I still look for her, for Victoria. And she's still there, in my dreams. Every night. Every single god damned night.” His blue eyes became shiny with grief.

John threw his big arm around Chris's shoulder. “You have to keep going for the kids. For Allison. Every day, every morning, you gotta get up and make breakfast and take a shower and pack a lunch. And every night you have to close your eyes and try to sleep, even when you know you can't. You have to keep going.”

“I'm trying.” Chris said, his voice small but determined.

“Tell you what.” John patted Chris's back. “Come over to my house tomorrow night. The kids have some party they're going to. Stiles is spending the night at Scott's. We'll have pizza and beer and watch boxing. I'm recording Friday Night Fights on the DVR. Well, that's not true. I'm not recording it, the television is recording itself, but Stiles set it up and I was planning on watching it tomorrow night anyway. Manny Pacquiao is going up against some new guy. It ought be a good show.”

Chris looked doubtful.

“Come on Chris, tell Allison to spend the night with Lydia. Come over and we'll have a guy's night in. I'll even let you pick out the pizza, and I don't do that for just anybody.”

Chris deliberated. John could see it on his face. John knew how tough it had been for Chris. He knew how hard it was to keep going when all you wanted to do was stop the world and be still until it started to make sense again. He knew how much Chris was hurting because he spent years hurting like that himself.

Chris turned to look at John. His blue eyes met John's green eyes and an understanding passed between them. An understanding that was filled with devastating grief and a simple faith that even pain this extreme could be endured until it passed.

“Okay.” Chris said. “About 8 o'clock?”


	2. Crying In Our Beers

Saturday night Chris arrived promptly at 8 o'clock, a 12-pack of imported beer under his arm.

John opened the door. “Hi Chris welcome to _casa de_ Stilinski.”

“Hi Sheriff, thanks for inviting me.” Chris shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Please, call me John. I'm not on the job tonight.” John laughed good naturedly and pointed to Chris's beer. “All I've got is Natty Light. It's the only beer Stiles lets me drink anymore. It tastes pretty good, but it'll be a treat to have the good stuff for a change.”

“Oh, good.” Chis said. “I didn't know what to bring, so....”

John put an arm on Chris's shoulder and welcomed him in with a friendly shove into the house. Chris looked around uncomfortably for a moment before John showed him into the living room. The two men situated themselves on the couch and John kept his promise. He let Chris pick out the pizza.

When Chris tried to pay for it, John insisted. "You did bring the good beer Chris. It's only fair I pay for the pizza."

Chris closed his mouth and let John pay.

John fiddled with the DVR for a little while until a frustrated Chris took the remote from him and magically made the recorded boxing match appear on the TV.

"Thanks." John said.

"You're welcome." Chris answered.

The two men leaned back on the old, comfortable, moderately worn couch and watched the fights. They drank imported beer and ate pizza (all meat, no veggies). They bragged about fights they got into as teenagers and lied about the women they banged before they got married. They burped, farted, and scratched inappropriately.

A good time was had by all.

When the fights were over John got out his bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses.

The men lounged on the couch, relaxed and comfortable. They both propped their feet up on the coffee table and stared vacantly at the pregnant chick on the weather channel.

“Chris.” John said.

“Yes John.” Chris answered.

“Why is the weather chick always pregnant?”

“That is a very a good question John, but I do not have a very good answer.”

“She's cute, I'll give her that. But she is always pregnant. Sometimes it's a different chick, but whichever chick it is, she's always pregnant Chris. _Always_. Who keeps knocking up the weather chicks?”

“I do not know John, but I'd like to volunteer my services should they be needed.” Chris said with a beery burp.

John guffawed. "You and half the guys in the country."

The men took turns pouring out shots and knocking them back. Soon the topic turned to their wives.

“You know,” Chris said. “I always admired Victoria's focus, her single-mindedness. She had a way of cutting through the bullshit of any situation and sifting it down to it's core. Her vision, it was always, _always_ clear.”

“Claudia liked being a wife. She liked being a mother. She worked so hard to make our house a home. When she died--it was empty. Everything--everything was so empty.” John slurred his response. Alcohol has done it's duty and he was feeling no pain.

“I can't sleep at night.” Chris continued. “I mean, I can't sleep in our bed, the bed we shared. I can't even go into our room.”

Chris ran his hand through his hair. “Allison goes in there, in our bedroom I mean, but I can't. It smells like Victoria in there. Her perfume, her shampoo. Her scent. I just want to brick off that room and let it fall off the side of the house.”

“So where are you sleeping? I slept on the couch for a couple of years. Not that I slept much, but it was better than a big lonely bed with no one in it but me.”

“I moved into one of the guest rooms. It has a double bed. Not small, but not giant. It doesn't smell like her either. Makes no difference though. I don't sleep. I doze some, but then I dream, and she's always there. Right there, front and center. But when I roll over to hold her and tell her how happy I am to see her, to hold her in my arms, I remember. She's dead. And then I wake up, and I don't sleep again.”

“No, you end up armed with a 10-gage shotgun, that I bet kicks like a mule, chasing cockatrices in the middle of the night instead.” John gave Chris a friendly push in the arm. Chris fell over the arm of the couch and stayed there, staring at the rounded belly of the weather chick like it held all of the answers in the universe.

“Somehow, that seems more productive than lying in that small bed in the guest room, longing for something I will never, ever have again, for the rest of my entire life.”

“I know what you mean. I closed a lot of cases after Claudia passed. I could look at the reports and see them so clearly. They were more real than my empty home, my sleepless nights, my half-life.”

“I noticed you still wear your wedding ring” Chris motioned to John's ring finger.

“I noticed you do too.” John motioned to Chris's ring finger.

“Will you ever be able to take it off do you think? I mean, don't you have to take it off to start dating again?”

“I don't know Chris. When I wear it... well. When I wear it, I feel... like she's still with me. Like I'm still her man, her husband, and I'm not ready to belong to anyone else. I don't know when I will be. I don't know _if_ I will be.”

“You and Melissa seem to be close.” Chris sat up, poured two more shots and downed his quickly before turning a questioning eye to John.

“Close friends yes, but... there's no real chemistry. I do like her. I respect her. She's been a hell of a lot of help to Stiles and I've helped out with Scott where I can. We're not meant to be _together_ though. It's just not there.”

John looked confused for a moment and then said quickly, “If you're interested in her though, by all means... I'm not standing in your way. She's a great lady. Smart, loyal, and I'm sure you've noticed, pretty easy on the eyes, ya' know?” John waggled his eyebrows to emphasize his point.

“No. No, no, no. It's not that. I'm _not_ interested in Melissa. It's only been 5 months since Victoria passed. I'm not interested in _anyone_ right now. I don't know if I ever will be again. I just... I like what I see of Melissa. The better I get to know her, the more I realize how much she tries to do well by Scott. As a newly single parent myself, I can respect that more now than I could last year.”

“She'll help you with Allison, you know. If you find yourself in a situation where you need a woman's touch. Melissa's good with the kids, good with the tough subjects. Part of it comes from being a nurse, but part of it is just maternal instinct. I think she has a chlamydia puppet if you need help talking about STD's”

“A chlamydia puppet huh.” Chris's mouth twisted up into an almost smile. “That's good to know. She's been very accommodating of Allison already. For me, right now, that's one of the hardest things.”

“What is?”

“Figuring out what to tell Allison, how to talk to her.” Chris took a deep breath before continuing.

“It used to be I knew who I was. I had Victoria. Our values were clear cut and well defined. I had my dad and my sister. I understood my world and I was confident about my place in it.” Chris took a breath and tried to sit up straighter before he slouched back down again, falling into the comfort of the couch.

“Now my wife and my sister are dead. My dad betrayed everything he ever believed in, everything he taught me to believe in. He's dead or disappeared and I'm left holding the bag.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Dad and Kate lost their way and they died as a result."

Chris looked at his hands, inspected them as if they could answer his questions. "Victoria knew herself. She had a moral code to follow, even when things were tough. She used to say that was when we needed a code the most, when a situation was murky and gray. That was when we needed to stick to the code as closely as possible. That's why we had a code, so we knew what to do when we didn't know what to do. You know?” Chris's logic was faltering.

“I know.” John agreed and lined up another two shots.

Chris downed the whiskey and continued.“But it was her code that took her away from me. So I ask you. What blasted good is a code that takes you from the ones you love? What blasted good is a code that causes this much heartache? This much torment?”

Chris's face stretched out in pain as a fragmented cry escaped his throat. John put down his now empty glass and leaned forward to grab Chris in a one-armed hug. He patted Chris's back a bit clumsily.

John offered what comfort he could. “It's just your crisis of faith, man. That's all it is. Everyone has one after their wife dies. Your wife died, so now you're having your crisis of faith. Don't worry. They don't last long, maybe a couple of years, usually no more than a decade. Then you'll be fine. You just gotta get through it buddy. One day at a time.”

Chris cried drunken, sloppy tears as he lurched forward into John's chest. He wept from his core and allowed John to support him in his grief. John wouldn't admit it in public, but he shed a few tears himself. Tears for the wife he used to have. Tears for the life they'd shared and which he would never have again. They fell asleep on the couch, and just might have been drunk enough and tired enough, to have one night free of dreams.

______________________________________

John knew it was morning because he could see the light of day when he squinted his eyes open experimentally, before closing them again, fast. He knew he'd been drinking because his head ached, his mouth tasted like ass and he had to pee so bad his wisdom teeth were floating. He also knew there was a warm body laying on top of him and that he had wrapped his arms around the warm body and snuggled close to it for warmth. Lastly he knew that his morning hard-on was poking up eagerly towards the warm body with a great deal more interest that it should be showing for a man of his age.

“Whoa-ho-ho! No way dude!” Stiles was in the living room and he was doing something that made bright, flashing clicking noises.

“Oh man, these are going to be so good. Scott. Scott! Man, you gotta come in here. You gotta see this. Dad and Mr. Argent. Look Scott. They're cuddling!” There were more bright clicks as Stiles gleefully snapped pictures of the two men with his cell phone.

“Is Mr. Argent drooling?” Scott asked.

John took a deep breath. Deep enough to move his chest and the warm body snuggled against it. Any minute now he would have to open his eyes. He would have to get up and be awake. He would have to brush his teeth and sit at the table and talk to Scott and Stiles and be a grownup again. He sighed silently to himself. Sometimes mornings came far too early. 

“Boys.” John began. “Boys! Go make some coffee and give me a minute.”

“Don't you mean give _'us'_ a minute Dad?” Stiles hooted.

“Stiles! Coffee! Now!” John growled out in his best dad-voice.

“Looks like you two had a _way better_ party than we did, huh Scott.” Stiles teased as he grabbed some of the empty beer bottles and made his way towards the kitchen.

Chris groaned from his warm nest on John's chest. “Is it as late as I think it is?”

“I don't know yet, I'm afraid to look.”

“Did Stiles get pictures?”

“I'm afraid he did.”

“Will he use them for blackmail?”

“He'll try, but I won't let him get away with it.”

“Will he really make coffee?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure he'll at least do that.”

“John.”

“Yes Chris.”

“Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“Ha, ha. Yes, Chris, it's a gun in my pocket. Now get off of me so I can get to the toilet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm moving.”

With a little effort Chris pulled himself off of John and into a stiff-armed stretch. John immediately felt the chill in the room and his gut reaction was to pull Chris back for the warmth. He resisted the urge with masculine stoicism.

“Chris.”

“Yeah John.”

“Did Stiles have hickeys on his neck?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Melissa McCall's Chlamydia Puppet is an honorary mention. It comes from the very funny, and highly recommeded story "Ain't Nothing so Good as the Cake and Eating it" by sofonisba_found. I would link to it, but I don't know how to yet. It's here on AO3 and is also available in podifc, so check it out.


	3. Turkey Bacon & Tater Tots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are no tater tots in this chapter. The word appears in the title because I like the alliteration, rhythm and flow of the name.  
> \---  
> 

Tuesday morning John and Chris met at the Downtown Diner (it's a diner and it's downtown, hence the name) for coffee and breakfast. John's intention was to find out more about the cockatrices and how to kill them but found himself talking about his son Stiles instead.

“Doesn't this mean he's dating someone? I mean, if the hickeys were on his arm, or even his shoulder I would assume he gave them to himself. That's the sort of thing I can see him doing. But they're on his neck. You can't give yourself hickeys on your neck, even if you're a contortionist. Hickeys on your neck imply someone else had to give them to you. Don't they?”

“Usually that's the case.” Chris said as he cut into his sausage and dipped it into the yolk of his fried egg. “Hey, how did you explain the cockatrices to the boy scouts out at the preserve? I've been wondering how you played that off?”

“Oh, that was pretty easy. One of the leaders told me they were ostriches. He kept telling the kids that, and before too long they all believed it. Except for the Greenberg kid, he kept insisting they were dinosaurs. His dad is one of my deputies and I think his older brother is in the same grade as our kids. Anyway, the boy scouts decided it was a flock of ostriches from that organic, hippie farm on the outskirts of town. The scout leader figured the fence was down and the flock escaped and they ruined the camp because they were hungry and looking for food.”

“That's one thing that never ceases to amaze me. People are so willing to keep their world orderly and easy to explain. They actually prefer to believe in weather balloons instead of flying saucers.”

“It's like a mass hallucination, only the hallucination is the flock of ostriches. The cockatrices are the real thing.”

“Yeah.” Chris shook his head in disbelief at how gullible folks could be. “Have you ever had ostrich steaks?” Chris asked, before he finished off the last bite of his sausage.

“No, I don't think I have. Is it any good?”

“It's really not too bad.” Chris cut a wedge from the slab of ham on his plate and placed it in his mouth.

John looked down at his own plate. Then he looked back at Chris's plate. John had ordered the egg white omelet, dry whole wheat toast and turkey bacon. Chris had ordered sausage, bacon _and_ ham, fried eggs and pancakes with butter and syrup. John had breakfast envy.

“Chris.”

“Yes John.”

“I have breakfast envy.”

Chris's eyes twinkled and then he laughed. Out loud. With his actual face.

John stole a piece of his bacon and refused to feel any remorse.

\----------------------------------------------

Friday night was the second lacrosse game of the season. It was an away-from-home game that took place in a nearby town. Chris and John decided to carpool together. Melissa asked to tag along and the men agreed. They were a little late getting on the road because Melissa's replacement had been late to arrive for her shift. There was a shortcut to the next town that cut through the Beacon Hills Preserve. The road wasn't as well maintained as the highway, but Chris's SUV managed it with aplomb.

The radio was on an oldies station and the three parents swapped stories about the most embarrassing things they had ever done while listening to Pink Floyd. Melissa was winning. Who knew she'd had such an experimental youth?

John felt rosy. He was happy, peaceful, laughing and enjoying himself far more than he had in a shamefully long time. He glanced out the window and saw a cockatrice running along side the SUV.

“Hey Chris. How fast do you think we're going right now?”

“Are you asking as the Sheriff, or as a passenger?” Chris's tone was wary.

“As a passenger, for Pete's sake. I'm not wearing my sheriff hat right now. Come on, straight-up. How fast are we going?”

“About 60.”

John turned back to look at him, mouth open in surprise. “In a 45mph zone?”

Chris shrugged his shoulders. “What? I'm trying to make up time.”

“Remind me to set up a speed trap near you're home. The county could make a fortune, just off of you.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't ask if you don't want to know. At least I don't drive like an old man.”

“Like an old man? Where do you get off calling me an old man? I'm not much older than you. You bull-headed speed demon.”

“Now, now boys.” Melissa interjected. “Am I going to have to separate you two like I did Stiles and Scott when they were ten?”

Both men looked bashful at the scolding.

“The reason I asked,” John said with an extra note of patience in his voice. “Is because there's a cockatrice running next to us, and it's passing us.”

“What?!” Chris's grip on the wheel tightened as he glanced out the passenger window. John was right. There _was_ a cockatrice racing them, and it _was_ passing them. Behind the cockatrice were several others, all keeping up with their leader.

Without warning the lead bird leapt into the sky. A quick stroke of it's powerful wings lifted it into the air and before they knew it, all of the cockatrices had leapt into the air and made their way into the darkening sky with powerful strokes of their large, muscular wings.

John told Melissa about the cockatrices and the boy scouts as the three of them watched from the side of the road until the entire flock disappeared into the darkening sky.

“Their wings seem more like eagle wings than chicken wings.” Melissa commented.

“I wonder if they taste like chicken wings?” John answered.

“I wonder how we're going to kill them.” Chris murmured.

“Hey Melissa,” John said. “Do you know if Stiles is dating anyone new?”

Melissa looked at John in puzzlement. “No, why do you ask?”

“I've noticed some hickeys on his neck and he's been smiling lately in a slightly psychotic way. Have you noticed?”

“Well, now that you mention it . . .”

Chris interrupted. “Please Melissa, don't get him started.”

“What? Stiles _has_ been making this sneaky smile lately. It's kind of creepy.”

“It is.” John said thoughtfully. “I thought so too.”

“This has nothing to do with cockatrices people. Now focus!” Chris gestured to the horizon where the flying creatures has disappeared.

“Lighten up man, it's our night off.” John threw his arm around Chris and brought their heads together in a firm, but gentle head butt. “Come on, let's get going. We're already late for the game. If we go right now we'll be there before the first quarter is done, especially with Bull at the wheel.”

Chris sighed. “No more talk about hickeys.”

“No problem.” John answered. “We can talk about Allison and Scott instead.”

“Hickeys you say.” Chris washed his hand over his face. He was willing to do almost anything to avoid discussing Allison and Scott. There were some things going on there, that quite frankly, he wasn't ready to talk about yet. “On Stiles' neck. Aren't they fading yet?”

“No.” John confirmed. “There are more. I think they're reproducing.”

Melissa sat back and grinned.


	4. Designing Sunday Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had forgotten how much fun it is to write and how nice it is to get kudos and comments. It sort of makes you (me) high. So big slobber kisses to everyone for all the kudos and comments. It really means a lot to a rusty writer reintroducing herself to her muse.

Chris and John planned a barbecue for the kids on Sunday afternoon.  They decided to do it at the Stilinski house because Chris hadn't figured out how to have guests over to his house without his wife by his side. Victoria had always been in charge of entertaining and meals, and he couldn't remember how to do it by himself. John sympathized. When your world imploded on itself simple things sometimes turned into impossibilities, so he was happy to volunteer the Stilinski backyard. John invited Melissa, but she was on shift at the hospital, so Chris and John were the only grownups.

Except for Derek.

“Do I offer him beer?” John asked Chris as he ushered him into the kitchen.

This time Chris brought a 12-pack of Natty Light. John looked at it and chuckled. Then he pointed to the imported beer in the fridge. Chris shook his head, face relaxed, blue eyes shining.

“Offer who beer?” Chris said.

“Derek. Do I offer him beer or give him soda like the other kids?”

“I don't know old man. I'm not the one who invited him.”

“When I told Stiles to invite some friends I didn't realize it would turn into a pack-thing.” John's voice was a strained whisper. “Derek's the leader of the pack. So I pretty much _had_ to invite him too.”

“The alpha. Yup. He sure is.” Chris had his matter-of-fact voice on again. It wasn't helping John in the slightest.

“Never mind Bull, you're no help. Let's carry the burgers and dogs outside and set up the grill.”

The two men gathered up the frozen patties Stiles had left out on a tray and a 3-pound package of premium hot dogs.

“How much food do these kids eat?” John said. “There must be 10-pounds of burgers here.”

“They are growing teenage werewolves John. They eat a lot. Trust me. Scott eats more at one meal than Allison and I do combined.” Chris shook his head at the thought. “I don't know how Melissa feeds him. I don't know how Derek feeds them when they all eat at his place.”

“Why don't you ask him when you see him Bull. And then _you_ can ask him if he wants a beer or soda pop and I can stop worrying about it.”

Chris smirked at John. “You know he can hear you.”

John looked across the backyard to see Derek deep in conversation with Isaac and Stiles. As if he could feel John's eyes on him Derek looked up to catch John's grimace. Derek gave him one of his trademarked piercing looks for just a moment and then raised his can of coke at John, as if toasting him from a distance. John's face turned red and discomfort rolled through him from the soles of his feet to the tips of his ears. Still, he maintained his position and nodded at Derek. At least he didn't need to worry about that anymore.

\------------------------------------------------

“Stiles” John called to his son who was busy filling his plate with potato salad and baked beans.

“Yeah Dad.” Stiles answered. “What's up?”

“What kind of burgers did you buy?”

“Umm . . . just the regular kind you know. Just regular burgers.”

“Uh-huh. And why does the burger on my bun taste different from the burgers on everyone else's buns?”

“Um Dad, why are you tasting other people's buns?”

“Stiles! Come on kid, focus. What type of burger did you give me?”

“Well... You have the um... veggie burger. And everyone else has regular beef burgers. They're werewolves Dad, I couldn't give them veggie burgers. They can't eat 'em. Werewolf metabolism and all that. Yup. They gotta have the beef ones.”

“I too prefer beef burgers to veggie burgers Stiles, yet somehow my burger is vegetarian. How did that happen?”

“I don't know Dad." Stiles' eyebrows knit together in consternation. "Maybe fairies switched them out when you went inside for more beer. They probably know about your high cholesterol, and your high blood pressure, and your high blood sugar, and your clogged arteries and they're probably just trying to help out.”

“Stiles.”

“Yes Dad.”

“Are fairies a real thing?”

“I don't know Dad. I know werewolves are.”

“So are veggie burgers son; the world is changing.”

“Ya' got that right Dad. You sooooo got that right.”

John sighed and ate his veggie burger.

\---------------------------------------------------

The sun had set. Chris and John were in the living room watching the most recent episode of Friday Night Fights on DVR. The kids were outside, ostensibly cleaning up, but mostly they were laughing, talking and being teenagers, except for Derek, who John suspected was dividing his time between brooding and scowling.

Chris sat comfortably on the couch. “He loves you, ya' know.”

“Who?” John asked, wondering if Chris meant Derek, which was just... ick! Too weird.

“Stiles old man, Stiles. Are you losing your hearing now too?”

“No, I was just... wool gathering.” John took a long drink of his imported beer.  “Stiles. Yeah, he's a good kid.” John agreed.

“I'm talking about the veggie burgers. He's trying to take care of you. Like his mom did.”

John looked thoughtful. “I guess so. I know he worries about my cholesterol levels. A lot. Does Allison do that? Does she try to fill her mom's shoes?”

Chris grunted. “Oh yes. Family dinners are the worst.”

John looked over at Chris with his eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”

“Victoria always made family dinner. We ate at the table together almost every night. It was one of the ways we emphasized our family values. Our hunter values. By eating dinner together at the table, no matter what else was on the agenda.”

“Claudia used to do that too. Make the family dinners I mean, not the werewolf hunting.”

“Right after Victoria passed Allison tried to make family dinners for the two of us. But I... I couldn't do it. I couldn't sit down at that table with only she and I. Not after having it full of so many people. People who are gone now. I just... just can't do it.” Chris's voice broke on the last sentence. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands.

“Hey Bull, it's okay.” John put his arm around Chris's back and rubbed circles, the way he would comfort a child with a skinned knee.

“Stiles and I tried to have family dinners.” John said companionably. “Conventional sit down dinners didn't work for us. Now we have them over my desk at work, or over my work at the kitchen table, or we sit in here and watch whatever new show he's hooked on while we share take-out. It's not traditional, but it works for us.”

“Yeah?” Chris turned his head to look the question at his friend.

“Yeah bud. You'll find your way. You and Allison. You'll figure out how to eat together again. It won't be the same as when Victoria was alive, but it'll work.

“I hope you're right. 'Cause right now we're fighting over who gets the lasagna TV dinners. It's not a pretty sight. You wouldn't know it to look at her, but she's pretty fierce with a fork, and she's not afraid to go for blood.”

“She's her father's daughter.” John agreed.

A small smile bloomed on Chris's lips. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

When the boxing ended Chris turned to look at John. John could feel Chris's eyes, but he was relaxed, a little buzzed from the beer and Chris staring at him was harshing his mellow.

“What Bull.” John asked. “I can tell you want something.”

Chris took a deep breath.

“Spit it out man.” John said with the same deep voice he used on Stiles and criminals when he needed them to spill their secrets.

“I was wondering John....”

“Yes Bull?” John made his voice softer and turned his head to took at Chris's expectant face.

“Can we do Sunday dinner together again next week? I mean... can we make it a weekly thing? You, me, the kids—Allison, Stiles, probably Scott, whoever.”

“You mean my family and your family getting together every week for Sunday Dinner? Is that what you're asking?” John wanted to make sure he was clear about this.

Chris bit his lip and looked at his hands. Hope, embarrassment and defeat danced a complicated jig over his visage. He couldn't look at John. “Yeah old man, that's what I'm asking.”

“Yes Chris. We can have Sunday Dinners together, every week.” John grinned. That was easy. He was worried it was going to be something hard like getting Scott to lighten up with Allison.

Chris let out the breath he was holding and looked up. “Good. Thanks.”

John's eyes twinkled. “But you have to tell the kids.”

Chris leaned closer to John and put his arm over his shoulders. He gave John a manly squeeze. “It's a deal.”

“One more thing Bull.”

“Yes old man.”

“I've thought about it and Stiles didn't have enough time to switch burgers on me earlier tonight. He was on the other side of the yard. I was in and out of the house so fast, I would have seen him if he tried to do it himself. He had to have had help.”

Chris did his best to look innocent.

John turned to Chris in accusation. “It was you wasn't it Bull? You were the only one close enough to my plate to switch the veggie burger for the beef burger before I came back out with our beers.”

“Yes old man, it was me.” Chris didn't know what to do with his hands.

John rolled his eyes. He wavered between being pissed off and laughing til he cried. He playfully punched Chris in the arm and growled. “I'm keeping my eye on you buddy. You're not as innocent as you claim.”

That night Chris slept the whole night through and didn't dream once.

\-----------------------------------------

Tuesday breakfast at the Downtown Diner easily became a regular thing. It was John's weekly court day which didn't start until 9 AM. Chris's schedule was flexible, so he found it easy to accommodate his friend's schedule.

“I told Allison about having Sunday Dinner at your house from now on.” Chris said as the waitress took their orders and filled their coffee cups.

“Oh yeah, how'd she take it?” John took a sip of coffee and smacked his lips.

“She asked me what was going on between us.”

John, who had begun to take another drink of coffee, did a double take and spit the coffee back out. He tried not to spray it everywhere like a cartoon character, but wasn't especially successful.

“Say again.” He said.

“She asked me what was going on between you and I.” Chris said, his matter-of-fact tone back again.

“She did?”

“Yes. She did.”

“And what did you tell her Bull?”

“I told her old man, that we were friends and that you were helping me through a really bad time because you had been through it too when Claudia died.”

“Well, that's the truth.” John blinked, not entirely sure what Chris was getting at.

“Yes, I realize that's the truth, but apparently some of the photos Stiles took made their way to my daughter and she showed them to me. They don't look as innocent as you and I know they were.”

“Huh. Well what do you want me to do about it?” John really didn't feel up to dealing with teenage nonsense this morning. As far as he was concerned they were all so horny and so focused on sex that could see sexual innuendo where there wasn't even a hint of it, like a tree stump or a cardboard box.

“I have the pictures here. Do you want to see them?” Chris pulled out his phone and scrolled through it.

John really didn't want to see the pictures, but he liked Chris, and it was easier to take a look at the picutres than it was to fight about it, especially before a long day in court. So he feigned interest and leaned forward to have a look. After seeing them he cringed a little bit. John lay on his back. Chris lay on top of him, head resting on John's chest, body fit snugly between John's spread legs. John's arms were wrapped around Chris's back and yes, Chris was drooling.

“It just looks like two old farts passed out drunk on the same couch to me. I wouldn't like these making the rounds come election time. I look trashed. But aside from that, I don't see anything too damning.” John didn't think he was lying, but he wasn't sure he was telling the truth either.

“Yes.” Chris easily agreed. “You do look trashed.”

“Hey Bull, you don't look so hot yourself.”

“Look, that isn't the point John.”

“Okay, what is the point then?” Their food arrived and John dug into his egg white omelet and turkey bacon.

“The point is, if Allison is asking questions then Stiles probably will soon enough and I thought you might want a warning.” Chris was trying to be patient, but he was clearly uncomfortable.

“Okay, okay, I appreciate the warning. I didn't think we'd have to explain our friendship to our kids, but whatever. It's the 21st century. I understand that the world is different than it was when were kids. So we just tell the kids that both of our wives passed away and that we're friends and they'll get used to it.”

“Allison will tell Stiles about Sunday Dinners and Stiles will want to know why.”

“Lighten up buddy. Meals together are a family thing and when your family changes you have to figure out new ways of doing old stuff. I'll talk to Stiles. He's a bright kid, he'll understand our reasoning.”

Chris took a deep breath. “I don't know why this is hard John. I don't know why this is so important to me.”

John tried to reassure him, finally realizing what was making Chris so uncomfortable. He was worried John would take away the promise of Sunday Dinners. “Don't worry buddy. We all have things we get focused on, this is yours. It's not a big deal. I'm looking forward to it. We can do pot luck.”

“Thanks.” Chris said, his voice heavy with relief as he cut into his stack of pancakes. After stuffing them into his mouth, he picked up a piece of his own bacon and piece of John's turkey bacon and traded them, carefully arranging each piece on the respective plates.

“No problem Bull.” John said. He picked up his new piece of bacon and ate it in two bites.

\-----------------------------------------

That Sunday the Argents and the Stilinskies gathered together for dinner. They didn't go to the Argent's house because Chris said he couldn't go into his dining room yet because when he did he saw ghosts of his wife, his father, and his sister at the dinning room table and they all stared at him until he wanted to piss himself. John suggested he buy a new table.

Allison, Stiles, Scott, Chris and John arranged themselves around the round table at the Stilinski house. The two dads sat next to each other.

“So,” Stiles said. “Every Sunday huh? All of us, here, together.”

“Yup.” John said, borrowing Chris's matter-of-fact voice.

“All of us?” Allison said, as if she still wasn't sure it was true.

“Yes. All of us.” Her dad answered her.

“And why are you doing this?” Scott asked, not directing the question at anyone specifically.

Chris frowned, obviously uncomfortable with the question.

Sunday Dinner was oddly important to Chris and John didn't want to see him suffer for it. He took a deep breath and plowed ahead.“Look kids." He gestured with his fork. “This is the situation....”

Chris swallowed hard and then gratefully allowed John to take over the conversation.

John gestured between himself and Chris. “Bull and I are both single. Our wives died for Pete's sake, and that's not something you get through overnight. Neither one of us is getting any younger. So we're old and lonely and trying to do something about it.

“We've got a few options. Chris and I could start going to singles bars and dating the ever-growing selection of desperate divorcees who wear too much make-up and too little clothing and who want help raising several children who are all still in elementary school. Or, we could start dating women with no children who are half our ages and have daddy complexes.”

All three teens looked uncomfortable. Allison couldn't look at either man. Stiles was watching his dad with his mouth hanging open, his eyes unfocused as he imagined the possibilities. Scott looked a little confused, but was doing his best to pay attention.

Chris took the ball and rolled with it. “That would be pretty easy these days. So many young women grow up without a man in the house and they are just looking for a nice older man, settled in his ways, so they can move in and get all the daddy-love they missed out on as girls.”

Allison frowned at this idea and pinched the bridge of her nose.

John gave Chris a surreptitious wink. “They wouldn't be much older than you Allison. How old are you now—eighteen yet? Your father could be dating women just a few years older than you."

Allison blanched and then placed her hand over her mouth.

"Or, we could start living our lives vicariously through our children.” John turned to look at the boys.

“No.” Stiles whimpered, eyes still focused on his own imaginings.

“Yes.” John continued. “We could spend all of our free time with our children and their friends. Learning everything they do for fun, chaperoning all your dates. Doing our best to keep busy by becoming a constant figure in every minute of your daily life.”

John eyed Stiles' neck poignantly. “We could hang out together every day after school, go to your parties together. Maybe even relive our glory days through our children's last couple years of high school.”

John surveyed the table, satisfied with what he saw. The kids each expressed it differently, but disgust covered every face.

John leaned in for the _coupe de gras_. “Or, we could have dinner together, on Sunday nights. It takes up a couple of hours of your week. You get a hot meal. You even get to have a friend or two over to break up the monotony.

"Now which would you prefer? Hmm Stiles? Would you like me to start dating or would you prefer we spend all our free time together?”

“I, I, I, I'm pretty okay with Sunday Dinners Dad.” Stiles stuttered out. “Yeah, I'm starting to look forward to them. They are going to be a lot of fun. Absolutely. What about you Allison? What do you think?”

Allison frowned and took a large swallow of water while wrinkling her nose. “I say yeah, Sunday Dinners are fine. No problem.”

Chris caught John's eye and shot him a grin. “Well good. I'm glad we worked this out.”

The kids looked quietly down at their plates and began eating.

“This meatloaf is delicious Allison” John took a hearty bite. “How did you make it?”

“Oh, Dad said to find a recipe for turkey meatloaf, since your cholesterol is so high. So I went online.”

“And tasty it is.” John mumbled around a full mouth.

“And the mashed potatoes, Stiles, I've never tasted any quite like this. What's your secret?” Chris asked.

“Oh, they're not mashed potatoes. They're mashed cauliflower.” Stiles bobbed his head as he spoke. “Because dad's blood sugar has been a little high lately and cauliflower is better for that than potatoes.

“Surprisingly tasty.” Chris said.

“Every Sunday?” Allison's voice was small.

“Unless you're ready for a step-mom you can attend college with, yup, every Sunday.”

“Yeah, okay. I think I can deal with that. Maybe Scott can bring his mom sometimes.” Allison stopped picking at her food and started eating in earnest. The meatloaf really was pretty good, even if it was turkey.

“She's always welcome.” Chris smiled at his daughter with determined delight. “Tell her it's potluck.”


	5. Of Cows and Cockatrices

“The hickeys are still there Bull. New ones.” John and Chris, both armed with shotguns, were in the woods hunting the elusive Beacon Hills Cockatrice, a peculiar animal, usually most active from twilight to dusk. Chris was determined to find their nest and John was determined to keep Chris from getting himself killed.

The sun was still up and would be for another half hour. Chris had the idea that the cockatrices built a communal nest near the fresh water pond on the far side of the preserve. John had finally made the time to discuss the situation with Dr. Deaton who had concurred with Chris's opinion. It appeared that the best way to kill them was to chop off their heads, which was why Chris also carried a big sharp knife, in case they needed it.

John was pretty sure that Chris was ignoring him, but he persisted. “Something is going on with Stiles and when I try to talk to him about it he hijacks the conversation and snowballs me with never ending stories about school and lacrosse and the pros and cons of male circumcision.”

Chris smirked. “Smart kid.”

“Yeah.” John agreed as he made his way over another fallen tree. He thought he did okay in the woods, but he couldn't blend in with the territory like Chris could. Years of hunting werewolves had turned him into some kind of forest ninja. John took a moment to imagine Chris in a ninja costume, with his big knife strapped to his belt. It made him feel a little aroused and then a little ashamed of himself for feeling aroused and then like a pervy creeper who creeps so he did his best to focus on scrabbling over the oversized tree trunk in his way instead.

“Yeah.” John said again. “Only now I sometimes hear noises up in his room. It sounds like someone is in there with him and they're talking and making _other_ sounds. But when I go in there and have a look around, there's no one there but Stiles.”

Chris continued his steady pace through the preserve taking the time to stay aware of his surroundings. He was pretty sure John was making enough noise to scare away any and all nearby animals, including the cockatrices, but at least he could scout the area and see if there were any nests to be found.

“Is the window open?” Chris asked John.

“What do you mean? We're outside.”

“No old man. In Stiles' room, when you look in there after hearing voices, is the window open?”

“I don't remember, maybe. Why?” John wondered where Chris was going with this.

“It's a werewolf thing. Scott comes in through Allison's window, especially at night, when they hope I don't know that he's there. Maybe he comes in through Stiles' window too.”

John ground his teeth together as he thought. “I might could see that. Yeah. But Stiles wouldn't be all jumpy and nervous about Scott being in his room. They've been friends since the third grade. If Scott was there they would just tell me.”

“Maybe it's not Scott then. Maybe it's one of the other wolves.”

“Oh.” John hadn't considered that. He screwed up his face in thought. “But which one?”

“I don't know, could be any one of them.” Chris bent down to examine a pile of detritus on the forest floor. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled. John's eyes followed his every move. He decided that if Chris tried to eat it that he would turn around and go home. Some things were just too far outside of his comfort zone. Luckily it didn't come to that. Chris dropped the dirt and leaves and forest splooge and dusted off his hands. He rose and continued towards the pond.

“Maybe it's Erica. She's the only female werewolf right?” John wondered aloud.

“What makes you think it's her?”

“It's just the way he's acting. He's all red in the face and guilty, and doesn't want to look me in the eye. Usually being with Scott doesn't make him act guilty even if he is.

“Last night when I thought I heard something I went into his bedroom and he was—rumpled looking. Like he'd been making out. Only there was no one there but him. I even checked his closet Bull. No one else was there.”

“Maybe it _is_ Erica. Maybe they were making out and she jumped out the window when she heard you coming.”

“That could be. I know there's _something_ going on, I just haven't put together all of the pieces yet.”

The men quietly made their way around the pond, checking all the nooks and crannies in the landscape. They found a few extra-large feathers, but no nest and no flock of cockatrices. The sun had set so they made their way back towards the road with flashlights.

On the way back to town Chris pulled into the _Kum Kwik_ gas station to fill up. John's window was down and he could smell the distinct odor of cattle. He glanced over to the diesel pump and saw a semi-truck filled with cows on their way to market.

Chris leaned into his window. “You want anything from inside?”

“Yeah, how about a diet cola, oh, and another 12-pack of Natty Light.”

“No problem.” Chris thumped the top of the SUV and headed into the store.

John kept looking at the truck full of cows. Something wasn't right. His Sheriff-Sense was tingling. The driver wasn't pumping gas and he didn't appear to be inside the store either.  John reached into the backseat for his service revolver and strapped it to his belt. He told himself he'd just check things out and make sure everything was okay.

He opened the door and shut it softly then, showing far more stealth than he had in the woods, he made his way to the other side of the truck. What he saw nearly made him lose his lunch. Three cockatrices perched over the dead body of the truck driver, companionably eating him up. John pulled out his revolver and shot all three cockatrices, twice each. He was a good shot, but apparently it took more than a couple of bullet holes to bring down a full grown cockatrice.

They all stopped eating the truck driver and focused their attention on John instead. He had a brief "Oh Shit!" moment, turned and moved to dive under the truck for cover when he felt a heavy body hit him hard and he heard the sound of a 10-gage shotgun going off from directly behind him. A fourth cockatrice had been running at him full tilt but Chris had taken it out, or at least knocked it down. The bird's head was nearly blown off but the body was still moving, like a chicken with it's head chopped off. It knocked John into the ground, under the truck.

\--------------------------------------------------

Melissa was talking to him, he could hear her voice, but couldn't quite make out what she was saying. His eyes fluttered opened and he looked around. He was in a hospital room, no machines attached to him, so he couldn't be too bad off.

“Melissa” he croaked. “What's going on?”

“Hey there handsome man, welcome back.” Melissa's smile was wide with relief. John snorted at being called handsome, especially in his current condition. She handed him a juice box which he drained dry.

“Where's Chris?” John asked as he took inventory of his body parts. None appeared to be missing, so he tried to sit up. Melissa did something clever with the hospital bed and it rose to put him in a sitting position.

“Compound fracture in his right arm, he's in surgery now to repair it. Otherwise he's okay. Sprained ankle, a lot of cuts and scratches, some bruises, including a giant one on his left shoulder. But he'll live.”

John closed his eyes and sent up a prayer of thanks. “The kids, do they know?”

“Yeah, they do. They're on their way over now, Stiles and Allison. Scott is probably with them too.”

“So what happened, do you know?”

“The story I've heard is that the cows got loose from their truck and they stampeded, killing the driver. Apparently Chris knocked you out of the way of the stampede. You fell under the semi truck, hit your head and passed out with a moderate concussion.” She gestured to the bandage on his head.

“Chris tried to stop the stampede and shot several cows. There were also a few ostriches, you know the ones that had escaped from the organic farm last month, who got in the way of the cattle and somehow their heads were stamped in or torn off.

“The store clerk called 911 and since you were an officer down the cops and the ambulances high-tailed it out there lickety-split. They found Chris injured, surrounded by cows, some dead, some not. After getting you and Chris into the ambulances, your deputies spent a lot of time shooting cows. I hear the fireman's barbecue is going to be especially well provided for this year.”

John ran his hand over his bandaged head and groaned. “Oh for Pete's sake. I can just see them out there shooting the cows in retaliation for knocking out their sheriff. Was it as bad as I think it was?”

“Probably even worse.” Melissa gave him a wry grin. “I hear there was cow blood everywhere, ankle deep.”

John grimaced at the thought. "The paperwork, that's the worst. The paperwork on this one's going to be monumental.”

Melissa shook her head in commiseration.

Stiles came in then, followed by Scott and Allison. They brought him a balloon and a teddy bear.

“You okay Dad?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, kid, I'm okay.” Stiles reached out and hugged his dad. John wrapped his big arms around Stiles and hugged him back.

\---------------------------------------------------

The hospital insisted upon keeping John overnight. It was standard procedure with a concussion. Seeing as it was almost morning already, John didn't give them much hassle over it. Instead, with a little help from Melissa, he found his way to Chris's room and sat with him, waiting for him to wake up. He wrapped his big hand around Chris's good hand, the one without the cast, and did his best not to remember all the time he spent in this same hospital holding his wife hand as she slowly faded away from him. He ran his free hand up Chris's arm and reminded himself that Chris was not dieing and would in fact probably be going home later the next day.

Deputies came in while he waited and explained everything that had happened. They brought him paperwork to get started on and looked balefully at their feet when he asked them why it was necessary to shoot all of the cows. Deputy Greengberg offered him a few pounds of ribeye steaks to make up for the extra paperwork. John stayed with Chris and kept holding his hand.

When Chris did wake up he was groggy and thirsty and frustrated because his arm didn't work. After he'd had a juice box and a pain pill and John had helped him to the bathroom he lay back down and grinned up at his friend. His pupils were dilated from the good pain pills, his hair was sticking up all over and his face was dotted with a multitude of scratches. John thought he looked trashed.

“I thought up something good about the hickeys.” Chris said.

John was holding his hand again. “Yeah Bull, what's that?”

“Well, the hickeys are on his neck right? They're still visible?”

“Yup, they're still there.”

“Be thankful for that old man. That means whatever Stiles is doing, he's keeping his clothes on. Whoever's sucking on his neck is doing it over his t-shirt.”

“You make a good point Bull.” John squeezed his hand.

“Allison never has hickeys that I can see and that causes me more sleepless nights than I would admit to anyone except you.”

“Oh for Pete's sake Bull!” John squelched out in exasperation. “I never even thought of that. Now you've given me something else to worry about. And Ach! Scott and Allison... I don't think I ever really allowed myself a clear mental image of that. Of them. You are an evil, evil man.”

“Don't I know it old man. Trust me. There is not enough brain bleach.” Chris slurred on the last as he nestled in for another nap.

John still held his hand.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day John drove Chris home. Chris felt much better although his arm, shoulder and ankle still ached. Allison was at the Argent house getting Chris's guest room ready for him. Scott and Stiles were at lacrosse practice.

After getting Chris strapped into the seatbelt John pointed the car in the right direction and headed towards Chris's home.

He gritted his teeth. He had something he needed to say and he wasn't going beat around the bush. “Chris.”

Chris turned to him, not really knowing what to expect. “Yes John.”

“You dad-blasted, fool-brained, mother-loving, son-of-a-biscuit! You are _not_ allowed to die!”

Chris didn't say anything. John's outburst surprised him so he sat there and watched his friend, unsure of how to respond.

John reached over and grabbed Chris's good hand. Chris could see how upset he was and let him do it. Absentmindedly John ran his thumb over the outside of the other man's palm. He didn't even know he was doing it. All he knew was that he needed to touch Chris to feel the warmth of skin and know that he was a living, breathing, LIVE human being. He snuck a look at Chris and then focused back on the road.

“Chris, you can't die on me man. You just can't do it. It wasn't so bad this time, I realize that. I've been in law enforcement long enough to understand that sometimes people get hurt. It goes with the job. So if you get hurt fine, I can live with that. I don't like it, not a single tiny bit. But I can live with it."

"Okay." Chris murmured, hesitation in his voice.

"Listen up Bull, 'cause I'm telling you here and now buddy, you are _not_ allowed to die on me. Not for at least 40 more years. I am not ready to figure out how to live without you Chris. I've gotten used to having you around and I'm not letting you go, not for a good _long_ time.”

Chris squeezed John's hand in return. “Same goes to you old man. You better keep eating your turkey bacon and your veggie burgers because I expect at least 40 more years out of you too.”

John breathed. “It's a deal.”

He took Chris home and helped Allison tuck him into bed.

 


	6. Needs More Shower Gel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my muse grabbed me by the shirt collar and pimp slapped me until I wrote this and edited it and posted it here. Let me tell you, an angry muse is a not good thing. Determined muses are much kinder to work for. Mostly I just try to keep her happy and she keeps the creative juices flowing.

John ripped the duct tape with his teeth and arranged the garbage bag more firmly over Chris's cast. Chris sat impatiently on the double bed in his guest room wearing nothing but his boxers. He hadn't had a shower in almost five days and he was getting ripe.

John made another adjustment to the cast which was now completely covered with garbage bag and duct tape. “There, that ought to do it.”

“Thanks. Now will you put toothpaste on my toothbrush?” Chris was a mess to look at. The cast covered most of his hand and went up almost to his shoulder. The other shoulder withstood a dozen or more kickbacks from the 10-gage shotgun. It sported a giant bruise that spread from his upper arm over his shoulder to his neck. The bruise was a dark sickly purple turning green around the edges. When John had seen it he'd said “See, what did I tell you, 10-gage shotguns kick like a mule.” Chris had argued that it was _that_ kind of stopping power that had saved John's life, but John had just thumped him on the bruise and said “Uh-huh.” Mercy wasn't exactly John's strong suite.

John squeezed the toothpaste onto the toothbrush. “Do I need to brush your teeth too, or can you do that yourself?”

Chris gave John the stink-eye. “I can do it myself. I just can't stand up for too long by myself because of the sprained ankle. It was a really bad sprain. Doctor says it'll be four to six weeks before it's all the way healed. I can stand on it, I just get tired fast.”

“Tell me again why you're taking a shower instead of a bath? Seems like a bath would be better if you can't stand up that long.”

“Because this bathroom only has a shower and I refuse to go into Victoria's room to use her bath. Good god man, her shampoo is still in there. Either you help me shower in here or you get to smell me ripening until you do.” Chris got up with a little help from John and hobbled to the bathroom where he leaned over the sink to brush his teeth.

“This is why men have wives Bull. There are some things no one else will do for you.”

“Yeah, well I don't have a wife any more old man, and neither do you so we might as well learn how to make do with each other.” Chris mumbled around his toothbrush.

John started the shower, making sure it was warm, but not hot. He left Chris bent over the sink, busy with his teeth and stripped down to his skin.

Chris spat out the toothpaste and looked at him. “Why are you naked?”

John walked up behind Chris and pulled his boxers down. Then he lifted each of Chris's feet and pulled them free. He picked up Chris's toothbrush and put it back in the rack. Then he guided Chris to the warm shower and helped him in.

“You need help with everything Chris. You can't wash your hair. You can't wash your junk and you can't wash your feet or your ass. If I leave you in here alone, you'll get over tired and fall over. I'm naked because when people take showers it's easier to get clean if they're naked.”

Chris swallowed the words that were about to come out of his mouth and made room for John behind him. “Okay. Okay, you're right.”

John pulled Chris backwards and arranged him so that the bigger man could support part of his weight. Chris's back pressed against John's chest as John squirted the shampoo into the younger man's hair and worked it in. It was so dirty it didn't lather the first time, so after rinsing, John repeated the process.

Chris melted against him. “That feels so good.” he said, then closed his eyes and let John support him.

John found the shower gel and lathered it up. He diligently washed Chris's neck, shoulders, chest and arms, running his hands over the skin, being mostly gentle with the bruise and paying close attention to Chris's arm pits, which stunk so bad they were in danger of peeling the paint from the walls. John lathered up his hands with more soap and wrapped his arms around Chris's hips. He washed Chris's crotch with as much clinical detachment as he could muster and did his best to ignore it when Chris's cock took the attention personally and rose to attention to show it's approval.

John moved Chris so he faced the shower wall and propped him forward. John got on his knees, which was not always easy for a man of his age, especially in a slippery shower, and ran his soapy hands over Chris's legs and feet. He squirted another dollop of shower gel into his hands and washed Chris's ass, including the center cleft. He did his best not to think about it and just to get it done.

“You doing okay buddy?” John asked as he rearranged Chris so his back was leaned against the the shower wall. John grabbed a little more shower gel and soaped himself up quickly before rinsing off.

Chris turned his big light blue eyes up at John and gave him his best puppy face. “You gotta help me John.”

“I just did Bull, I washed your sweaty pits for Pete's sake. I'm here for you, what else do you need.”

“You gotta jerk me off John.” Chris looked desperate.

“One of your hands still works Chris, I think you can take care of it yourself.”

The water beat down on John as he moved to help Chris out of the shower.

Chris put his hands out to stop him. “No man. You don't understand. I've tried to do it myself, but I'm right handed and that hand's in a cast. My left shoulder is bruised to kingdom come so it hurts when I move it too much and besides, my left hand just doesn't work that way. I can't get the angle right. And I'm on steroids John. Steroids for my arm, and...” Chris's voice dropped, sounding deep and desperate. “And they are making me so horny I'm going out of my blasted mind. Allison brought Lydia home yesterday. Lydia, who is a year younger than my daughter, and I could not get her out of my head. I don't even like Lydia, and besides she's a _child!_ But her red hair, something about it....”

John bit his lip and frowned.

“John you said yourself there are somethings only a wife will help you with. Well I don't have a wife, but I do have you, so help me man. Help me.” Chris's eyes were wide, his tone pleading.

When he looked back on it, John wasn't sure what had turned the tide. Was it his affection for his friend and his willingness to set aside his comfort zone in the name of friendship? Was it that he empathized with the personal loathing that came from looking at your child's friends and realizing that they were attractive. Was it his inner Sheriff who knew it was better to take care of this quickly so that Chris wasn't plagued by visions of a girl who was clearly jail-bait, but also precocious enough make that seem less significant than it should in the eyes of a horny man. Maybe it was a combination, because before he realized what he was doing....

John looked up at the ceiling and then rolled his eyes in defeat. “How do you want me?” John was not going to over think this. He was going to do it and get it over with.

“I don't know.” Chris answered, eying the small space speculatively. “Whatever you think is best.”

John took a minute to look Chris over, noting the hard earned musculature under the pale, bruised skin. If he felt an ember of heat tickle it's way up his spine, he chalked it up to the heat of the shower, not the heat of the man in front of him.

“All right Bull, move forward, let me slip in behind you.”

Chris did as the older man asked and then scooted himself back to the way they'd been when they started the shower—his back against John's chest.

John filled his hand with more shower gel. He took a breath, steeled himself and reached a steadfast hand down to Chris's now solid erection. He wrapped one arm around Chris's chest to keep him upright and then wrapped his other hand firmly around the younger man's cock. He took a practice stroke up then down and another, keeping things simple until he figured out what he was doing and how he was going to do it.

“You owe me Bull.” He grunted. “You owe me big time.”

Chris let out a gnarled, panting gasp in response.

The motion of John's arm was familiar. It was the same movement, the same rhythm he used on himself when circumstances required. The only weird thing, the only part of the procedure that put his teeth on edge was that it was another man's cock in his hand, not his own. But it wasn't just another man, he told himself. It was Chris, who he knew for certain was someone he loved. What kind of love it was might be up for debate after this incident. But John was familiar with love, the way it felt, the things it made you want to do, and he recognized his feelings for his friend for what they were. Love with a capital L. The kind you could hang your hat on and cozy up with for a decade, or four.

“Is this good? Like this?” John asked, his voice slightly husky.

Chris moved his left hand and wrapped it over John's. “A little tighter.” He squeezed a little more and kept his hand there, over John's hand, stroking up and down, up and down. Sliding with the shower gel over all of the bumpy veins and ridges.

John leaned his head down to Chris's ear, breath raspy as he watched their intertwined hands shuttle tightly over Chris's arousal. “Better?” he asked.

“Better.” Chris breathed, legs spread, eyes closed, mouth open and head back to rest on John's neck and shoulder. John thumbed a nipple when he discovered it hidden surreptitiously under his hand. He did it again when it made Chris shudder. Chris thrust forward, hips jutting, joining the snug rhythm of John's hand on his cock. John added a twist at the end of their stroke, rubbing his palm over the head of Chris's slick cock.

“Even better?” He asked quietly, voice tickling inside of Chris's ear.

“Yes.” Chris's voice was deep, breathy. When he felt John's erection pressing against his lower back he rubbed back against it. Wanting to share the excitement.

Chris made sex noises, soft grunts and ragged moans tempered by staccato gasps as John continued to abrade the nipple under his palm. The noises collected in John's ears like drops in a bucket, until they filled to bursting and spilled into his brain and out of his own mouth. He squeezed Chris's cock even tighter, reminding himself of everything he liked, everything he did to himself, to make an orgasm bigger, stronger. He wanted to make this good for Chris. Make this something he could give his best effort to and be proud of when he thought back to it, when he remembered what he had done, what he could make Chris feel.

His own cock pressed against Chris's lower back and it was—so very hard. As Chris bucked forward and back into their linked hands his back and ass rubbed against John's arousal, teasing it with friction that was never enough to push him over the edge. Lord in heaven, he didn't think he'd been this turned on in almost a decade. He pressed his cock forward, rutting into Chris's back, bumping his ass with heavy testicles that had swollen with curious excitement. His hand moved faster, to match the increasing rhythm of Chris's hips. The younger man forced himself, faster and faster, squeezed John's grip tighter and tighter.

“Pull my balls old man, pull my balls.” Chris demanded with a moan.

“What?!” John asked, uncertain.

“Pull my balls John, the other hand, use it to pull my balls.”

“Um....” John kept up his stroking, kept up the friction, but he was stuck, unable to move further.

Chris reached up for the hand that thumbed his nipple and directed it down to his tight, furry balls. He pressed John's hand around them and whispered, “Pull.”

So John pulled.

He pulled on Chris's balls, rolled them tight, and hard in his hand, and he stroked Chris's dick with a warm, strong, slippery grip. Chris's orgasm bubbled up and out of his cock and onto John's hand. It spurted through the shower water onto the shower wall. John kept stroking, lengthening the process, making it as good as he could. Chris grunted and squealed and slumped back against John's chest in exhaustion. John wrapped both arms around Chris and rested his head on his shoulder, listening to Chris pant while John breathed heavy puffs into Chris's ear.

Chris didn't give himself time to come down from his climax. “Now you.” He panted. “Now you gotta do it.”

“No buddy, let me just help you out, you're nearly falling down.”

“No!” Chris used his command voice. “No old man. Stay.”

John halted any movement and held Chris still instead. Chris moved awkwardly, maneuvering himself until he leaned against the shower wall.

“Do it.” Chris ordered. “You got to see my sex face, now I get to see yours. Do it, rub one out. I want to watch. I want to see.”

John looked from his friend, with his cast wrapped up in garbage bag and duct tape, bruised shoulder scratched face and eyes blown with a twist of lust and satisfaction. “Do it!.” Chris demanded.

So John did it. He wrapped his hands, still slick with Chris's come, around his own cock and stroked. He leaned his back against the shower wall, closed his eyes part way and watched Chris whose eyes were riveted on his hand stretched over his own cock, moving swiftly and with surety. Chris made sex noises again, soft words like “Oh yes.” and “That's the way.” with a few Mmm's and Umm's thrown in for good measure.

John's body took notice of the interest, his dick grew harder, his strokes grew faster.

That's when the dirty talk started. “Your cock is so hard John, so big. It's red and angry and you're squeezing it so tight.”

John strangled a groan as it made it way from deep within his chest.

Chris continued. “Your hand is slick and strong and you know just how to stroke it, just how to make yourself come. You want to come don't you John? You want to come so bad. It's been a long time hasn't it? And you want it. You want to shoot your load all over this shower, all over me.”

And that was when John lost it. His climax washed up his spine, crested in his ears and spilled over chin. It ran down his sternum, through his nipples and got tangled up in his knees before shooting out of his toes like a bottle of overheated ketchup. He rested his startled gaze on Chris, who looked tired, but pleased with himself.

John blinked.

Then he roused himself, quickly washed and finally maneuvered Chris out of the shower.

“What the hell was that Bull? Dirty talk? I... I never heard anyone do that, not in real life.” John helped Chris onto the bed, then went back for towels.

Chris smirked with self satisfaction. “Victoria like it. She loved dirty talk, so I've been doing it for twenty years. You might say it's one of my special talents.” Chris preened a little as John helped him dry off.

John shook his head. He found a clean pair of boxers for Chris and helped him get dressed before putting his own uniform back on. He slumped Chris in a chair, removed the duct tape and plastic bag from his cast. Then he changed the sheets on the bed, because they were as ripe as Chris had been. Finally he tucked Chris back between the clean sheets and gave him a pain pill. Chris was exhausted; it was written all over his face.

John sat on the side of the bed and held his hand. “You gonna be okay now bud?”

“Yeah, I feel a lot better. Lydia is safe once again.” Chris chuckled then looked down at their clasped hands. He raised them gently and bumped them up and down on the mattress. “Thanks John, for everything.”

“No problem Bull. One more thing though.” He eyed Chris, face serious.

“Yeah.” Chris glanced up at him, eyes already drooping with the effects of the drugs.

“I do not have an angry cock. I have known my dick for 50 years and I have it on good authority that it does not get angry.”

Chris's face pinked up prettily.

John watched the blush wash from the tips of Chris's ears all the way down to his nipples, before disappearing under the blankets. John wondered just how far down that blush had traveled, but he didn't pursue it. “It might be eager, it might be excited. It might even be determined, but my dick does not get angry. You know, for future reference, in case you ever need to talk dirty to me again.”

“Got it. Your dick's a lover, not a fighter. I'll remember.” Chris's face lit up with a bashful grin.

John picked up their clasped hands and pressed his lips lightly to Chris's wrist. “We're good Bull. Don't worry. Get some sleep. I'll swing by to see you tomorrow, and I'll help you in the shower again the day after.”

All through the rest of the day John could smell Chris's shower gel on his skin. When there was a domestic disturbance out at the organic farm he smelled himself surreptitiously as he tried to help Jan and Sonja work out their differences of opinion over the running of the business. He smelled himself in the car as he drove Sonja into the station to put her in a holding cell until she cooled off and stopped threatening Jan with grudge fuckings, pussy spankings and other bodily harm. He wrapped himself up in his own arms that night and smelled Chris on his skin as he drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.

The next day he put body gel on the grocery list and reinforced to Stiles how important it was that he get the right brand. Stiles didn't argue, and he bought the right kind, so all was right in the world once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a very (very) long time since I've written a sex scene. The last one I wrote was when Xena and Gabby were playing conqueror games and Ares came to visit the fun. This is the first gay (male) sex scene I've ever written, so please do let me know what you think. If I missed the mark, that's okay, you can tell me so I can do better next time. As the sages say, writing is a process, not a destination. Your response lets me know where I am on my journey. Lots of thanks and all the slobber kisses you can endure. :-)


	7. Pile Up

The hot water pounded on Chris's chest, leaving his skin tenderized and tingly. The calloused hand on his dick stroked hard and unrelenting. Chris fisted his right hand, still in the cast, grasping at the dry air inside the garbage bag, once again duct taped over his broken arm. He arched his neck up, panting, heaving, nearly begging. It was good, but he needed something else, something more. The warm, larger body behind him held him close. The other man's weight supporting his own, pinned him against a firm chest and (mostly) hard belly. A hard cock rubbed at him, sliding slickly in the valley between the cheeks of his ass. Chris ground back against it, wanting, needing.

“More, more!” Chris whined, head overflowing with sensations, seeking that extra one, which would push him over the edge. The hand on his chest dropped lower, glossing over his belly, dropping to his balls. It held them tightly, firmly, almost too much. Chris felt his balls being tugged, massaged, lifted. And then the hand moved lower still, behind his hard, tightened balls, to his perineum. It pressed, pulsed, just right. Oh yes, just right there. The hand on his dick pistoned forward and back, the hand behind his balls pressed over thin skin, and he lost his mind to an orgasm that tore him down to the essence of his soul.

\--------------------------------------------------

John felt Chris slump against his body. Felt Chris rub his ass against the hard cock behind him like a cat in heat, seemingly unable to help himself. John pressed forward, pumping himself against the warm groove of Chris's ass, arms wrapped around Chris, holding him upright, pinching his nipples selfishly, even after the younger man had come. John grunted and cursed, rubbing his cock against the warm skin. He pulled Chris closer, making the crevice tighter.

Chris murmured to him. “Come for me baby. Come on my ass. Let me feel it. Let me feel what I do to you. I want you John, I want you to come for me right now. I want to feel you come every day. I want you rub your come into my skin, I want it to saturate me. I want to feel it when I walk and I want to smell it when I sleep. Come all over me baby, come all over my ass.”

So John did, because apparently when Chris really wanted something, John was unable to refuse him.

\--------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later John helped Chris into his car for the trip to John's house for Sunday Dinner. The drive usually took a quarter of an hour, so there was time for conversation.

“John.”

“Yes Chris.”

“Are we dating?”

“Do we have to do this now Bull? On the way to Sunday Dinner?”

“No John, we can do it after Sunday Dinner if you prefer. I just thought we'd feel more comfortable with the kids and everything if we knew what was happening, you know, in our, um—relationship. “

John rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't know how to talk about this Bull. I don't....” He trailed off.

Chris sighed. “We're sharing orgasms John. In my experience that's dating. Do you share orgasms with people you don't date?”

John gritted his teeth. “I don't know Chris. I haven't shared orgasms with another person in so long I'd begun to think they were a mythical occurrence, like the Mets winning the World Series.” He shot Chris a sidelong glance, the slipped his hand over the younger man's and squeezed. “I like having orgasms with you Bull. I want to have more.”

Chris smiled and bounced their hands.

\--------------------------------------------------

Over Sunday Dinner Scott informed the table that the pack was taking an interest in the cockatrices and would be scouting them out on the next full moon. All intel would be shared with the Sheriff and Mr. Argent if he was still interested. Chris assured Scott that he was indeed still interested in the cockatrices and would like to know anything they uncovered.

While the young people cleaned off the dinner table John and Chris settled down on the couch for a date with the DVR. The Sheriff's radio made a distinctive sound so he answered it with reluctance. A pileup on the highway involving at least half a dozen cars required his immediate attention.

“Go on old man. We'll clean up here and then Allison will drive me home. You go do your duty.” Chris said, propping up his feet and getting comfortable.

“You're just going to make yourself at home?” John quirked an eyebrow.

“I didn't think you'd mind.” Chris smiled.

“No, I don't reckon I do.” John smiled back.

“Stiles.” John turned towards the kitchen. “I'll be gone all night on a call like this one. Can you stay at Scott's house and get off to school in the morning from there?”

Stiles looked at Scott who nodded agreeably. “Sure thing Dad, no problem.”

“All right then, I'm off.” John headed towards the door.

“Stay safe old man!” Chris hollered from the living room.

“Will do Bull!” John answered.

Scott snorted quietly to himself.

\--------------------------------------------------

John knocked on the Argent's door at 3 AM. The light was still on so he assumed Chris was awake. He was right. Chris answered the door wearing pajama bottoms, a cast and a tired grin. He put an arm on John's shoulder and ushered him in.

“You look like crap old man.” He said amiably.

“Thanks Bull. It's nice to know you care.” John retorted.

Chris lead John into his study where he was doing paperwork.

“Did Scott and Stiles get off okay?” John asked.

“Yeah, they left at the same time we did. It's good Scott can be there for Stiles. I'm sure he worries when you're out on late night calls, especially with the current trouble.”

John settled himself wearily in a chair. “Yeah, Scott's a good kid. I texted Stiles already to let him know I'm safe. I thought about texting you, but when I saw the light on I thought maybe I could tell you in person.”

“That's very thoughtful of you John.” Chris was still standing. “Do you want coffee or whiskey?”

“Whiskey, definitely.”

Chris poured two drinks. John downed his quickly and gestured for another. The second one he sipped slowly.

“Was is bad?”

John let out a deep sigh. “It's never good. Multi car pileups can be tragic but we were lucky, only five cars were in it. Four people injured enough to head to the hospital, one airlifted with multiple injuries, a couple with scratches and minor impact injuries from the air bags. The rest of the traffic was able to slow down and go around.”

“What caused it? Were you able to determine?”

“There was a herd of deer that ran out into the highway. Two were killed on impact and a couple of others were injured. They had to be put down. My deputies are turning into knockers from the slaughter house.” John grimaced and rubbed his shoulders. “I just needed to see a friendly face while I decompressed.”

Chris opened up a bottle of ibuprofen and handed two tablets to John who took them willingly.

“Take off your shirt.” Chris said. “I'll rub your shoulders, work out some of your tension.”

“Is that the kind of relationship we have now Bull? We give each other back rubs?” John's eyes twinkled with roguish intent as he removed his shirt.

“We give each other orgasms old man, I think back rubs are a given. Besides I don't see anyone else lining up to give you one so I guess it'll have to be me.”

Chris dug into John's back with a little bit of awkwardness because one of his hands was still in a cast. He used the other one to good advantage though. John groaned with pleasure.

“Damn that feels good. I haven't had a back rub in years. Claudia used to give them to me, after a difficult shift. Your hands, your fingers are different though. Larger, stronger.” John looked up at Chris and then back down again. “It's nice.” he said on a muffled groan.

“I gave them to Victoria sometimes. She liked it hard. Wanted me to dig into the muscles, so I guess that's the only way I know how to do it now.” Chris worked his fingers over a knot, smoothing it out to relaxed muscle.

“She taught you well my friend.” John finished his drink while Chris continued squeezing and prodding his back, leaving him boneless and relaxed.

Chris ran his fingers lightly over John's skin and then patted his shoulder. “Come on old man, you're too tired and have had too much to drink to drive home now. Are you sleeping with me or on the couch?”

“Do I get a choice then?” John asked innocently.

“Yes old man, you get a choice.” Chris waited patiently for John's answer, hand still resting on the older man's bare shoulder.

“I am old enough and man enough to admit that I am tired of sleeping alone.” John pressed his hand over Chris's. Then he stood, turned Chris to face him and wrapped his big arms around Chris's back. He leaned forward. “I think it would be nice to have a warm body in the bed next to me, evein if it is a skinny, bull headed man like you.” He kissed Chris briefly, pressing their lips together then tilting his head back to look Chris in the eye. “Maybe especially a skinny bull headed man like you.”

John smoothed his lips against Chris's again, licking his tongue forward. Chris responded with a open mouth and welcoming tongue. Their kiss was slow and sleepy, but it carried promises like summertime carries the sun.

John followed Chris upstairs, both of them trying to be quiet so they wouldn't wake Allison. Both men stripped down to their boxers. They both looked at the bed and then at one another.

“Which side do you prefer?” John asked

“It never really mattered to me.” Chris answered.

“I want the left side.” John motioned to the side he meant.

“Then I'll take this one.” Chris crawled over the bed and up to the pillows. John watched Chris and lost himself for a moment in the thought of all of Chris's lovely skin and how nice it would be to nibble on it and make Chris squeak. He shook his head and got under the covers.

“This is not a big bed Bull.” John said as he tried to make his big body fit into a double bed with another full sized man.

“No old man, it's not a big bed.” Chris yawned, moving about to get comfortable.

“Do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?” John asked.

“I've been the big spoon for 20 years John. I don't know how to be the little spoon.”

“Do you want to learn?” John's voice was hopeful.

“No John. I do not want to be the little spoon. I have a cast on my arm. I want you to be the little spoon and I want to get some sleep.” Chris sounded tired and a wee bit impatient.

“Fine Bull. I'll be the little spoon. This time. But this doesn't mean I am always going to be the bottom in this relationship! When your cast is off, you have to take your turn being the little spoon.”

“Okay, okay old man. I would never assume—I wouldn't think that John.” Chris's voice became quiet, intimate. “I assumed we would mix thing us. You know, take turns... and stuff.”

John huffed with a receding pout. “Okay. I can live with that.” He rolled onto his side and scooted back into the curve of Chris's warmth. Chris scooted forward, wrapped his casted arm around John, tweaked his nipple and then placed a small kiss on the older man's neck.

John whispered into the darkness. “I don't know what this is, between us." John tangled his legs up with the younger man's. "Something more than best friends. What I do know Bull, is how rare it is, to feel this way about another person and for them to feel that same way back. Bull are you listening?”

“Yes John, I'm listening.” Chris murmured against the back of John's neck. 

“I'm not tossing this aside just because it gets awkward or uncomfortable. I'm man enough to face up to that crap Chris. I'm here for the long run.” John waited, body tense.

“Me too baby.” Chris said softly. “I'm not going anywhere. Like we said, four decades at least.”

John's body lost it's tension as he relaxed back into the warmth of Chris's comfort.

“Hey Bull.”

“Yes John.”

“Does this mean we're going to make sleepovers a regular thing?”

“Yes old man, now go to sleep.”

And so they did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a couple of days in coming. Thanks for all the feedback on the last one. Y'all are the greatest!


	8. Game and Gander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I've edited this once, but it needs another one, which it won't get until tomorrow. Thought you might like it anyway. Thanks again for kudos and comments. :D You guys are the best!

Chris woke with the alarm at 6:30. He clawed it off and then took a moment to wrap his body around John's warmth, breathing in his scent and relaxing, just for a moment, into the comfort of John's presence in his life and in his bed. Then he gritted his teeth and got out of the warm bed and into the cold room to dress and make breakfast for Allison. Sometimes being the grownup was not especially convenient.

Allison walked into the kitchen a little while later. She set her messenger bag on the bar in the kitchen and readjusted the strap on her shoe. “Morning Dad.”

Chris reached over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Morning Allison. How are you?”

“I need money for that field trip.”

“Yeah Hon, get my wallet from the study, I've got cash.”

Allison went after the wallet while Chris plated her toast and eggs.

“Um, Dad.” Allison said, as she returned from the study, perplexity on her face. “Why is Sheriff Stilinski's uniform shirt in your study?” Allison carried the offending article of clothing in her hand along with her father's wallet.

Chris froze, his back to Allison, and squinched up his face in chagrin.

“Dad, you said that the two of you were just friends. You know, helping each other out with your grief.”

Chris's shoulders hunched up with tension so he pressed his shoulders down forcibly and sucked in an audible breath. He turned around to see his daughter's face, filled with confusion and accusation.

“We are friends dear.”

Allison looked at her dad then down to the Sheriff's shirt, then back to her dad again. “And is that all? Just friends?”

Chris eyed his feet, then glanced over at Allison's plate. “Sit down and eat your breakfast Allison, before it gets cold.”

Allison begrudgingly sat down and took a sip of her juice. She managed a small bite of egg and then asked again. “What's going on Dad? Scott said.” She paused and looked everywhere but at her father. “Scott said, on Sunday, after dinner. He said he could smell you and Sheriff Stilinski, together, on each other.. You know, like you had been— _intimate._ ”

Chris sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “We're not sure what it is yet, but we are getting closer, yes.”

“Eww! Dad! He's Stiles dad! It's weird enough that we have Sunday Dinner with them and that the two of you answer one another's sentences like you're married or something. What are you doing Dad?”

“Like I said dear, John and I haven't defined our relationship yet. It's... it's... evolving.”

“What does that even mean? Evolving! You were married for like twenty years! How can you be _evolving_ into gay? How can Sheriff Stilinski be _evolving_ into gay? Are you two having sex now? Are you going on dates?” Allison flung down her fork and gulped her juice.

Chris stood there, unable to speak, trying to maintain eye contact with his daughter and wishing he could crawl back in bed with John and pull the covers over his head.

Allison pitched her voice low and mocking. “Oh, I know, 'I can't answer your questions dear, because I don't have any answers because I'm too busy _evolving_.' ”

Allison grabbed her messenger bag and stormed out of the kitchen, hair flying behind her like the dark cape of an angry fairytale witch. “I'm going to school, maybe when I get home you will have _evolved_ some answers.” She took one look back at her father, open betrayal on her face.. “Mom's barely been gone seven months Dad. I hasn't even been a year, not even close.”

Chris watched her leave and then cleaned up the kitchen. His mind filled with self flagellation, confusion, anger. He went back upstairs, stripped back down to his underwear and cuddled up behind John. Exhausted with emotional upheaval, he was asleep within minutes.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

“So what do you want to do about it? Have a family meeting?” John and Chris lay under the blankets of the double bed in Chris's guest room. John's arm circled Chris's shoulder while Chris nestled his head on John's chest. Chris ran his foot slowly up and down John's leg, absentmindedly losing himself in the soft scrape of John's leg hair on his toes and instep.

“Good Grief! Old man, I have no idea. I don't have a single clue. She was just so mad and so hurt and I never want to make her feel that way.”

John rubbed his hand over Chris's shoulder and bent over to press a kiss to his temple. “I know baby, I know.” He whispered. It was almost noon and John would have to make an appearance at the Sheriff's Department before too long. He wanted to stop by his own house for a clean uniform first. He had been hoping to share more orgasms before heading into work, but now was clearly not the time. “Tell me what you want me to do Bull, and I'll do it. I'll back you up or back off, or chair a family meeting. I here for you bud. Whatever it is.”

Chris squeezed John tightly. “Thanks. I probably need to think about it and get back to you.” Chris leaned up on his elbows and brought his lips down to John's into a full, possessing kiss. He parted his lips, pressed his tongue to John's and tickled it with the fierce determination of a man who has found something he wants and isn't letting go. John kissed back with gentle certainty, his lips and tongue following the younger man's step for step.

The kiss ended far too quickly. With a promise to talk later, before school let out, John was out the door and on with his day.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

The text from Stiles came in the early afternoon.

_Dad are you gay now?_

John wasn't sure how to respond. So he kept it simple.

_It's complicated._

Stiles response was almost immediate.

_Do we need to have the safe sex talk?_

_We'll talk at home._ John replied.

_Condoms Dad & Lube. Lots of Lube. Lots & Lots & Lots of Lube._

John smirked, then forced his expression to a responsible frown. He texted one word.

_Stiles!_

\-----------------------------------------------------------

After school Stiles and his dad drove over to the Argent house. They sat at the dining room table where John was relieved to note that the ghosts Chris had mentioned previously were metaphorical in nature, not actual physical manifestation of deceased loved ones. With werewolves, cockatrices and heaven knew what else running around, the Sheriff had been a little concerned that the ghosts of Chris's father, sister and wife were really sitting there at the dining room table haunting the hell out of the Argent home. He was glad they weren't. One less thing to worry about.

John and Chris sat next to each other, their clasped hands resting on the table top, a quiet statement to their intentions.

“All right kids, what do you want to know?” Chris looked at John, who gave him a reassuring nod. Then he looked over at Stiles and Allison. Stiles looked at their hands and then up at the two men and then shook his head like he was trying to dislodge an unwelcome thought. Allison looked at her fingernails and played with the place mat on the table.

“So.” Stile began. “You two are dating then? Right?”

John and Chris looked at each other, green eyes gazing into blue. They squeezed hands.

“Yup. We're dating.” John said to his son. “We were friends, but now it's turning into something more. So, yeah, dating.” John's ears pinked at his admission.

“And you're two gay men, who are dating?” Allison asked, the chip on her shoulder as big and surly as the ghosts John had imagined joining them at the table.

“We haven't really talked about that yet.” Chris said to his daughter. “This is still pretty new to both of us.”

“Well if you're a man, and you're dating another man, that makes you gay, right?” Allison wanted to pin them down like butterflies in a bug collection.

“They could be bi, you know.” Stiles suggested. “They were both married so we can assume they like or at least liked chicks too.”

“Stiles!” Allison said. “You are not helping!”

“I'm just saying Allison, it's not such a big deal to label them. You know. You're being closed minded.”

“I'm not being closed minded.” Allison insisted. “I'm being a girl whose mom is dead and whose dad is dating another guy, before my dead mom is even cold in the ground!”

“Yeah, but they obviously like each other, _a lot_. I mean look at them.” Stiles gestured to the two men.

Allison looked at her father and the Sheriff holding hands at her parent's dining room table. Tears fell from eyes. Her face turned up red and squished. She ran to her room and slammed her door so hard it almost made the house shake.

Chris turned to John, “I'll go talk to her.”

“Sure thing Bull. We're heading out then. Give you two some privacy.” John rested his hand on Chris's shoulder then turned to leave.

“Stiles.” John said.

“Yes Dad.” Stiles said.

“Thanks son. For what you said in there. You're a good kid.” John ruffled Stile's short hair with one of his big dad hands.

“Yeah, whatever.” Stile's ruffled his dad's hair in return.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday morning Chris was still not quite up for breakfast at the Downtown Diner, so he and John met at the Argent house instead.

“How was Allison last night?” John asked as he sat down at the bar in the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

“She's got a ways to go still.” Chris didn't look happy about it.

“What about you Bull? How are you doing?”

Chris almost smiled. “Would you believe me if I said as well as can be expected under the circumstances?”

John snorted. “That good huh?” He walked over to Chris and wrapped his big strong arms around the younger man, pulling him into a bear hug. Rubbing his fingers gently over Chris's neck he whispered. “I've heard it gets better.”

Chris placed his hands gently on both sides of John's head and tilted his head to side. He pressed his lips against the older man's and lost himself in lips and teeth and tongues, the bump of noses and the scrape of whiskers against a smoothly shaved face.

“Lets go upstairs.” Chris whispered.

“Lead the way.” John agreed.

\-----------------------------------------------------------

They stripped themselves quickly when the reached the privacy of Chris's guest room and crashed into the bed in a tangle of limbs and mouths.

“I wish we had more time, but I gotta be out of here, showered and dressed in just over an hour.” John said between nibbles of Chris's lips and tongue.

“Then we better make it good.” Chris gasped, as John's hands moved down his chest to paw at the divots left by his hipbones. John took the younger man's gasp as encouragement and trailed tickly fingers over Chris's belly and hips. Chris rolled John under him and ground his swollen dick into John's with a throaty groan.

John's dick had never actually touched another man's dick and his brain short circuited at the contact. He pressed his hips up, while running his hands over and down Chris's back, gently squeezing his ass. Chris's teeth nipped their way over John's shoulder. John's mouth opened and his eyes closed as he thrust up against the other man.

“Help me.” Chris murmured. “Hold us together, I can't—the cast.”

Chris took John's hand in his own and pressed it down and around their rutting cocks. “Together, like that.” Chris said as he thrust into John's grasp, brushing his own cock deliberately over John's.

John shuddered. He wrapped both hands around their cocks using the precum leaking from them both to lubricate his hold. He squeezed tightly and thrust up while Chris moaned in appreciation and thrust down. The friction was rough and coarse and just what both of them needed.

Chris rammed against John, pumping his hips, while John rocked up, grinding himself against his friend's cock. Holding them together as they fucked into his fists Chris forced his tongue into John's mouth, mimicking the cant of his hips with the pulsing thrust of his tongue. John swallowed around Chris's tongue and moaned. He accepted Chris's tongue into the heat of  his mouth and stroked it while sucking lightly.

Their chests, by now slick with sweat, grated against one another, chest hair abrading skin with congenial friction. It came upon them quickly. The compressing heat of John's hands, the glorious friction, the intimate stroke of one cock against the other.

Chris came first, come jolting from his cock, spilling over John's hand, lending it's warmth and it's slick to John's squeezing hands, forcing the older man to follow Chris with his own orgasm soon after. They lay there, panting, bellies slick with sweat and come, mouths locked in contentment.

“I think I like gay sex.” John smiled and slowly relaxed back into his own skin.

“Yeah.” Chris agreed. “We should look it up online or something. When the kids are at school. Figure out what else two guys can do together.”

“Sure Bull. Sounds good. And we can buy lube. Stiles says we need lots of it.”

“Stiles huh?” Chis said.

“Yeah.” John panted. “He seemed to be rather well-informed about it.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Friday night Chris and John sat together on the bleachers for the lacrosse game. They didn't hold hands. They didn't share a blanket in the cool weather, but their shoulders did rub together and when they looked at one another they grinned.

Below them Lydia and Allison shared a seat while Erica and Derek sat nearby. John watched Erica and Derek chat briefly with Stiles before taking their seats.

John nudged Chris and gestured with his eyes in the direction of Erica and Derek. “There, did you see that. Erica was talking to Stiles. It looks to me like there's something going on there.”

“I don't know old man. I'm still not convinced.” Chris said.

“Maybe I should put bars on his window to keep out horny werewolves. Do you think that would do any good?”

Chris scoffed. “I've considered doing that to Allison's room, but I don't know. Isn't that sort of over the top? It sounds like something my father or my wife would do. I'm not sure I could maintain my own self-respect if I started acting that much like them.”

“More of the crisis-of-faith crap huh?” John shook his head in sympathy.

“Yeah, something like that.” Chris squinted down at the field. Seeing Melissa he waved.

“Hey guys did you save me a seat?” Melissa bustled up with a plaid blanket to lay over her knees.

“Of course Melissa. Good to see you. How's work going?” John smiled at his long time friend.

“Nobody died on me today.” Melissa said with a philosophical tilt to here head.

“I hear you. In our lines of work it's always a good day when you can say no one died on your watch.”

Melissa nodded. “Chris, how are you feeling? Healing up okay?”

“Yeah.” Chris said. “I'm feeling much better. Thanks. Still a little stiff, and the cast itches like crazy sometimes, but definitely better.”

“Say Melissa.” John interrupted. “I wanted to tell you thanks for letting Stiles stay overnight on Sunday and again tonight.”

“Sure, no problem.” Melissa said. “But wait. Sunday? Stiles wasn't at my house on Sunday night.”

“Are you sure? That was the night of the five car pile up.” John quirked an eyebrow.

“Absolutely. I worked second shift. Emergency was busy, but my replacement was early and I got home by 11:30. I stayed there all night. Stiles wasn't there.”

“Hmm.” John rubbed his chin. “He wasn't there Sunday, so where was he? He had to sleep somewhere. I wonder what else he's lying about?'

Melissa shook her head in commiseration. “I don't know John, but he is staying tonight. I bought stuff for smores. Scott and Stiles said they were camping out in the backyard. We have a fire pit. It seemed kind of cold to me, but they insisted they'd be fine.”

“Camp out. In this weather. Stiles, what are you up to?” John wondered aloud.

“Hey John.” Chris said. “Maybe we should cancel our plans for tonight so you can catch up with Stiles. See what he's up to.”

“You two have plans tonight?” Melissa seemed interested.

“Yeah. _Tyson's Greatest Hits_ on the DVR and a 12-pack of Natty Light.” Chris said.

“Oh.” Melissa said. “Then why was Stiles under the impression that he was staying at Scott's house because you had a date John?”

John looked at Chris. Chris looked at John. They both blushed.

“Oh—oh!” Melissa looked from one man to the other expectantly then said “Oh I see. You do have a date. With each other.”

“Yeah.” John said with a swallow.

Melissa looked on—silent, waiting. John knew this trick because he'd used it enough times on Stiles and the bad guys down at the station. First ask the question, then let the kid squirm until he's so uncomfortable he'll do anything to fill up the silence. This shouldn't work on him. He was a grownup for Pete's sake. Sweat rand own the back of his neck, even in the cool weather.

Chris broke in to save him any more unease. “It's still very new, so we're uh....”

John interrupted. “We're not ready go go public with it yet. Not that we won't. Just....”

Chris and John's eyes met again and shared a silent accord.

John continued with a blush. “We're still figuring out what it means and we haven't told anyone but the kids yet. It's not a secret, but it's not general knowledge yet either.”

Melissa smiled. “Well my lips are sealed. I'm here for you guys. And John, Stiles is welcome to stay over any time, just make sure I know, so they can't sneak around on me.”

“It's a deal Melissa.”

Towards the end of the game John turned to Chris, who was watching him furtively.

“What?” John asked.

“What what?” Chris answered.

“You're looking at me again Bull. I can practically see the wheels turning in your brain. What are you thinking?”

“Do you really want to know, old man?” Chris raises his eyebrows.

“I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know.” John was getting impatient.

“The way you bicker, it's like you two are already married.” Melissa said with a feminine cackle.

In mild outrage the two men answered at the same time. “We do not!”

“You're just proving my point guys. Don't worry. It's cute. I'm not sure what your kids think right now. But really, it is cute.”

John grumbled.

Chris replied in his loftiest tone. “Thank you Melissa. I take that as a compliment.

“As it was meant to be.” Melissa added.

“Now.” Chris said. “Old man, if you can get your head out of your ass for a moment. Here's my plan.”

John gave Chris the stink eye and then put on his listening ears.

Chris continued. “First, we don't tell Stiles or the other kids that you suspect anything. We let them go about their business and then, when they think they're safe and their guard is down we ambush them, right in the middle of their clever little trick. Like a stealth maneuver....”

“Or a stake out.” John said. “I like the way you think Bull.”

“Thanks old man. The feeling is mutual.”

Melissa grinned again. “Like I said, just too cute.”

“Aww, for Pete's sake Melissa. Give us a break.” John wiped his hand over his face.

“I'm sorry John. It's just you've been so lonely, and it's nice to see you happy for a change.”

John looked over at Chris. “It's nice to feel happy for a change.”

Chris bumped shoulders with his buddy before he spoke. “So we're agreed then?  Melissa, do you feel okay about us ambushing your son in the middle of the night.”

Melissa gave an evil grin. “I'm looking forward to it.”


	9. instructional videos

John unlocked the door to his place and allowed Chris to precede him into the house. They walked into the living room grabbing beer from the kitchen on the way. Chris settled on the couch and John sat right next to him.

“Did you see the way Erica kept hanging around Stiles?” John said.

Chris was dubious. “I don't know old man. I'm still not convinced. She was hanging out with Stiles some yeah, but she was literally _hanging off_ of that big kid, Boyd. I don't think she has anything going on with Stiles.” Chris rested a hand on John's leg.

“But who else is jumping from the ground to a second story window for a late night booty call with my son?”

“It must be someone else, some other werewolf.” Chris shrugged his shoulders and moved his hand a little farther up John's leg, squeezing just a little.

John took a drink of his beer. “Does Scott jump into Allison's window for late night booty calls?”

Chris removed his hand from John's leg and looked up at the ceiling. “Please old man. Please. Can we change the subject? Because if I'm honest with myself I'm pretty sure he does. But I _do not_ want to think about it. I want to live in denial for a s long as possible and the more you bring it up, the more difficult it is for me to keep the wool pulled over my own eyes.”

“All right. All right. I won't make you face anything you're not ready for yet.” John wrapped his arms around Chris and pulled him in for a kiss. It was sweet and thorough and involved more tongue than was strictly necessary under the circumstances. “Your personal delusions are always safe with me Bull. I'll never make you face crap you're not ready to see yet. Just make sure you tell me we're avoiding a topic when it comes up, and I'll help you ignore it as best I can.” John waggled his eyebrows lasciviously.

Chris laughed. “You're a good friend old man.” Chris kissed John again, then slumped in his arms before continuing. “It's just—the minute I admit it might be happening. That they are doing more than sharing a few platonic kisses over homework—I have to _do_ something about it. I have to face up to it and then make decisions about it. Tell them no they can't keep on the way they are. Or worse, tell them yes they can have sex in her bed under my roof, and make sure she has condoms and trips to Planned Parenthood and a prescription for the pill.”

John held onto Chris and rubbed his shoulder. “It's not easy Bull. You have to be the mom and the dad and you have to make the hard calls.”

“She's seventeen John. Seventeen. And he's a _werewolf._ ”

“Yeah, and what were you doing at seventeen?”

“That's the worst part of all of it old man.” Chris shook his head.

“Yeah Bull, why is that?” John wanted to know, wanted to help.

“I remember being seventeen and doing so _many_ things my parents would have skinned me alive for, if they had known about it. I can't be Gerard about this. He was black and white with no room for gray. If I had dated a werewolf, much less slept with one under his own roof... I never would have done it. It just wouldn't have been an option.”

John stroked Chris's soft hair as the younger man rested his head against John's chest. “Like we've been saying bud, the world has changed a lot since we were young.”

Chris rubbed his head against John's chest, savoring the strength and stability it gave him. “I know I can't be Gerard in this situation, with Allison and Scott I mean. I can't be him and I can't be Victoria either. I don't know what's over reaction and what's not reaction enough. Until I can figure that out, I'm not ready to admit to what's going on behind my back or under my own roof while I toss and turn. Unable to sleep in my own bed because it's too big without you in it.”

John grinned, pleased that Chris missed sleeping with him. He held Chris closer, nearly pulling the younger man into his lap. “I've got you Bull. I'm not letting go. I gotcha buddy. I won't make you look too close.” He rubbed circles into Chris's back and drew his face up for a wet, sloppy kiss.

Chris threw a leg over John's lap, straddling him. He wriggled himself into position so their crotches lined up just right, allowing Chris to push against John so that the friction between their cocks was rough and tempting. John exhaled a smothered moan into their kiss, wrapping his big Sheriff hands around Chris's ass and squeezing tightly. Chris lifted his ass just a little so John had better access. John raised his pelvis, flexing his glutes and pressed Chris down as he pushed up. He controlled the movement of Chris's hips and ass with his hands, finding an almost perfect rhythm.

“Bull.” John's voice was throaty, hoarse. “When do we need to leave for the stake-out?”

Chris looked dazed, eyes shot with lust, lost in his physical self and having trouble climbing out of it into the cerebral. After a moment he checked his watch. “It's almost 11 o'clock. We've got an hour or so before we should leave.” Chris paused, his expression turning predatory. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

John blushed, which piqued Chris's interest all the more. “What old man? What's on you're mind?”

“I thought we might do that internet research we talked about the other day.” John hid his face in Chris's neck.

“Is that so?” Chris cocked his head to the side. “Do you have a website in mind?”

“No.” John shook his head in the tender hollow of Chris's neck, his hair tickling Chris's skin. “I, um—I hadn't made it that far yet.”

Chris petted John's head and pulled it up to meet his gaze. “Well then. It's a good thing I have.” Chris was smug. “Get out your laptop and we can look at it together.”

So John did. After fetching his laptop he handed it over to Chris who, without hesitation, pulled up the site, which loaded onto the screen.

“Do you trust me old man?” Chris asked.

Cheesy music filtered from the speakers and into the room. It was interspersed with masculine grunts and moans and the occasional growl.

“Oh for Pete's sake Bull! Nothing that starts out that way is going to be good.” John was almost afraid to look at the screen, but curiosity was winning over his squeamishness.

Chris wrapped his arms around Jon's neck and kissed him long and deep. “Come on old man. This will be worth it. I promise.”

John's lips were swollen and puffy. He looked skeptical. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“All righty Bull. I trust you. Do your worst.”

“Not my worst. Not yet. You'll have to wait for that.” Chris was smug again and it made John's lips tingle with the urge to kiss the smugness off of the younger man's face.

“Is that right?” John asked.

“Yup.” Chris confirmed. “Meanwhile, look at this.” Chris gestured to the computer screen.

“Aww Bull. It's porn. I didn't sign on for porn. I want to know how to do it so we don't hurt each other. I just want a few pointers, not kids just a little older than our own doing it to a disco beat.”

Chris paid him no heed. “They are not kids old man. They're like at least thirty. And it may be porn but it's instructional porn. See, watch. It explains how to do—you know— _it._ ”

John wanted to cover his eyes but he did trust Chris and Chris said it was instructional. God he hoped Stiles never found out about this. Dads did not watch porn. John knew. It was in the Dad Handbook and if John was nothing else in his life, he was absolutely a good dad. Not a perfect one. But a darn good one by golly. And he was watching porn. With his boyfriend.

Good grief. Sometimes the way one defined oneself needed to be overhauled and the overhaul wasn't always a comfortable procedure, John mused to himself. Probably it seldom was especially comfortable or convenient. He squinched his eyes and clenched his fists for a moment before releasing them. John nuzzled his head against Chris's. Uncomfortable, inconvenient, but still worth doing. He turned his attention to the video playing on the screen.

“So.” John said. “It's about butt sex. It's a porno that explains butt sex? For people—um—guys—who want to learn how to do—how to have—butt sex, with other guys. Is that right?”

“Yes John.” Chris said. “That's exactly what it is. A porn video that explains butt sex between consenting adult men.”

John ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus H. Chris. All righty Bull. Turn it up so I can hear it.”

“Going a little deaf in your old age, old man?” Chris was smug again. Christ, John was going to wipe that little grin off of his face, the first chance he got.

“I don't hear as good as I used to, I admit it. It's my own fault for practicing in the range without proper ear protection. After Claudia passed away I didn't always take good enough care of myself.”

Chris looked a little ashamed of himself. “Fair enough old man. That's something I can understand.” Chris turned up the volume on the laptop and the two men sat back to watch.

“It's like those films we watched in health class, back in high school, only you know, with porn.” John said.

“I thought the same thing.” Chris agreed.

A narrator explained with clinical detachment exactly what the two men on screen were doing. Every now and then the narrator would make completely inappropriate comments like “Adam can really take it!” or “Steve's mouth was made for this.” John resisted the urge to put his face back into his palms.

On the bright side, the video did make all of the basics clear.

“So we need lube and condoms. And more lube. I guess it's really important that we have enough lube.” John said and continued to watch the screen.

“Yes. That seems to be something they emphasize, using plenty of lube.” Chris said.

“When you're married, to a, um... woman, you really don't have to think about lube that much.” John said, feeling a little uncomfortable and a little turned on and thinking about Chris in his ninja suit again.

“Nope. With a woman everything is pretty much self-lubricating.”

“Yup, it sure it. Not so much with the guys huh?” John had moved his comfort zone into a trailer in the next county and they were currently communicating only through text messaging.

“Nope.” Chris said. “Not so much.”

John was feeling a little out of his depth. Okay, maybe a lot out of his depth. “Stretching Bull.” John said as he struggled with his discomfort, trying to be as okay about this new part of his sexuality as he could.  “Stretching also seems to be very important. _One finger, two fingers, three fingers, score. Stretch well before heading for the goal_.” John mimicked the narrator from the video, pinched the bridge of his nose and kept watching.

“Yup.” Chris deadpanned, eyes focused hard on the screen, paying very close attention to the instructions. “Ample stretching and lots of lube.”

John stole a glance at Chris. “We'll have to make sure we're really clean before we try any stretching, um—down there. I mean, fresh from the shower clean.”

Chris snuggled in tighter to John's side. “We can take a shower together. We already know how to do that part.”

“Works for me” John said, giving Chris's arm a squeeze.

“Do we really need condoms?” Chris asked.

“I don't know. We tell the kids to use them all the time. Bull, now you're making me think about things I'm not ready for.” He dropped a kiss onto Chris's head.

“Tell me about it.” Chris sighed. “God—Scott and Allison....”

“Bull. Shut. Your Mouth. Right now. No bringing up any of the kids while we watch this. Not your kid, not my kid, not any of their friends. Agreed!?” John was not prepared to let kid thoughts bleed into sexy naked Chris thoughts, or sexy ninja Chris thoughts. Or any sexy thoughts whatsoever.

“Agreed old man. No mentioning any of the kids.” Chris nodded and continued to watch the screen.

The narrator was now explaining the differences between topping and bottoming while making thinly veiled sports references. Apparently Steve was currently up to bat, but Adam would have his turn during the next inning. The narrator explained that some men preferred to catch, while others preferred to pitch but that most were willing to play both positions, although usually not at the same time, because that would require an additional player, which was an option best left to advanced players only.

John was relieved he didn't have to choose one role and be stuck with it for the rest of his life. He didn't really think that would happen with Chris, but hearing it aloud gave it a measure of relief. He was normal he told himself. He wanted to play all the positions, not just one, and not with any extra players either. Just him and Chris was plenty.

“But what about the condoms?” Chris interrupted John's thoughts.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“Do we want to use condoms. Do we need to?”

John wrinkled his brow in thought then turned to Chris. “Are you planning on lubing and stretching anyone else, besides me I mean?”

The younger man reached up and squeezed John's hand, which hung over Chris's shoulder. He looked up at his friend, eyes focused, sincere. “No John. Just you. I plan on lubing and stretching you. No one else, male or female. Ever, 'til we're both dead. Just you and me, and lots of lube.”

John squeezed back. “Good.” he said. “I ask because I don't plan on seeing anyone else either. I mean, it's me and you and that's it. No _extra players._ Agreed?”

"Agreed." Chris said.

John's tone turned serious. “I've been in love twice Bull. The first time was with Claudia. I know what love feels like. She made sure of it. The second time is you. And that's it, that's all. You know what I mean?”

Chris reached up and captured John's mouth in a searing kiss. John's head swam as his oxygen levels diminished but he didn't let up. Finally, panting, the two men paused.

Chris's eyes were soft as John continued to gaze down at him.

“Yeah old man.” Chris said. “I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way.” Both men grinned then turned back to the instructional video. Chris continued. “So no condoms necessary then. I'm sure you get tested routinely for work. And with hunting I get tested regularly too, for sexually transmitted infections and things far stranger too.”

“Okay then, works for me.” John said, as he ran his hand up and down the other man's arm.

They watched the video for a while longer. The narrator was talking about dental dams and the hygienic risks associated with switching from anal to oral in the middle of play. Apparently it was important to make an informed choice.

John lost his comfort zone again. “Rimming Bull? Rimming? I mean, I thought I was doing good just letting my mind entertain the notion of blow jobs, but rimming!?”

“Yup old man. That's going to be one thorough shower.” Chris murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“Rimming.” John mumbled to himself. Then jumped. “Turn that thing off Chris. We gotta go ambush the kids.”

Chris looked at his watch then shut down the computer. “This is going to be so much fun.” he said with an evil grin.

John would forever categorize that look at the ninja grin. It was scary and sexy and just enough crafty for John to sprout wood every time he saw it.

 


	10. Stake-Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter, and it's still not as cohesive as I'd like, but I figured you could all wait a couple of weeks while I angsted over it, or I could publish it now and simply live with it. I decided to just go for it. Also, I havne't edited this one as thoroughly as usual, if you find any glaring problems, do please tell me and I will correct them, but probably not until tomorrow.

Chris drove them to Melissa's house. He explained to John the importance of coming in downwind so that Scott won't be able to scent them. He gave John a spray to help cover their scent. Then he reminded John not to talk, not even a whisper, because of superior werewolf hearing.

“This is going to be a lot more complicated than I thought.” John complained with dismay.

“Yup old man. I've trained my whole life for excursions like this one. Just follow my lead. Keep your head down and don't talk. Hand signals only. Got it?”

John acknowledged that he did indeed get it, but continued to think this was not going to be quite as much fun as he was originally hoping. It would have been more fun to stay at his place and test out some of his newly acquired knowledge. What he really wanted to do was get his mouth on Chris. He wasn't sure exactly where he wanted to put it, but it would be someplace fun and it would make Chris wriggle around until he keened and maybe even begged. John lost himself in the idea of a wriggling, keening, begging Chris and just what it might take to make him thus. He shook his head and focused back on the ambush.

Chris parked a couple of blocks down wind of Melissa's house. He turned to John, eyes full of excitement. “You ready old man?”

John felt a surge of attraction and pulled Chris's mouth towards his own for a sloppy, wet kiss. “You are so sexy when you go all commando on me.” He murmured.

Chris found himself readjusting his cock in his pants. “Glad you think so old man.” He said with a lusty grin.

John followed Chris and did his best not to watch Chris's ass as they make their way, stealth-style, toward Melissa's back yard. John had never found himself watching another man's ass with such vivid interest. He wondered to himself if it was just Chris's ass he found so appealing or if men's asses had now become universally appealing. He decided to conduct some subtle research the next time he went grocery shopping. He could check out all the guy butts he saw and determine if he found any of them attractive. This could be a private thing, he reassured himself. He wouldn't need to tell anyone like his son or his Chris.

The two men could see the fire pit burning and heard Scott and Stiles whispering, although they couldn't make out what the boys are saying. The tent unzipped and both boys came out.

Chris motioned for John to stop. The two men held back, hidden by parked cars and shadows. They listened to the boys, who were chatting merrily with one another.

Scott poked a hot dog onto his unbent wire coat hanger and held it over the fire. “Relax man. Mom won't come out. Look at the house. She's dead asleep. Besides, the others will be here any minute. Relax. We're going to have a great night.”

Stiles was not ready to believe his friend. “Scott, it's just—I'm nervous man. What if Mr. Argent suddenly goes home and sees that Allison's not there and then he'll call my dad. Dude! That would not be a good thing.”

Scott laughed at the idea. “Take it easy Stiles. They're probably taking full advantage of their time away from you and Allison. They're so busy with each other that there's no way they're even giving you or Allison a second thought.”

Stiles thought it over. “Yeah, you make a good point.”

“Hey, I've been wondering something about them.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Why do you think your dad calls Mr. Argent Bull?”

“I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. Why?”

Scott appeared thoughtful. “I was just trying to figure out why your dad chose that name for Mr. Argent. I mean he doesn't look like a Bull to me. Does he to you?”

Stiles pushed a couple of marshmallow onto his coat hanger stick and held it in the fire. “It's like a name for prison guards or cops. Truckers call cops Smokey. If you're in prison then the guards are Bulls. It's a cop thing, that's all.”

Scott isn't convinced. “Or maybe it's because he's all bad ass and won't take anyone's bull? Or maybe he's as strong as a bull?”

Stiles interrupted his friend. “It could be because he's hung like a bull and my dad is so appreciative of the fact that he wants the whole world to know, so he calls him Bull. That way everyone knows Mr. Argent is hung like a Bull, and my dad is a happy man.” Stiles cracked up, laughed so hard he lost his marshmallows into the fire. Cursing under his breath, he threaded two more onto his wire and watched them much more carefully this time. He wasn't going to burn them, he was going to toast them.

Scott was incensed. “Dude! That is Allison's dad! Don't go there man. We will not talk about Mr. Argent's private parts. There is not enough brain bleach for that. Once you imagine something like that Stiles, it can creep up on you and hijack your brain during the worst moments. Trust me. I know. I was with Allison once and she had been teasing me and—nevermind, you just do not want to know.”

Stiles continued to snicker to himself because he is secretly evil and liked getting a rise out of Scott when Scott least expected it. Stiles had lots of practice over the years so he's become quite adept and is far more sneaky than he used to be. “Okay, okay. We won't talk about Allison's dad. Jesus! You don't have to be so sensitive!”

Scott lifted his nose to the air and drew in a deep breath. “They're parked. I can smell them. They're near.

“While we're on the subject Stiles, when they get here. I get the tent. If I let you two have the tent then I'll be smelling your jizz all night. Talk about needing bleach. Bleck! There is no way I can sleep smelling that.”

Stiles was not pleased. “Yeah, and what are we supposed to do out here in the yard where anyone can see us? Huh? You get the tent and I just have to go without?

“You'll figure something out. Take a sleeping bag if you want some cover.”

Derek and Allison arrived together. Scott placed the hot dog he had patiently been toasting to perfection into a bun, slathered it with ketchup and mustard and offered it to Allison. She grinned up at him like he had offered her the world. She gave him her thanks and took a ferocious bite. Scott beamed back at her.

“The only problem with that idea Scott is that when the sleeping bag goes back into the tent, it will be saturated in our scents, so you'll have to smell us anyway.” Derek grinned and put his arm possessively around Stiles' waist. Stiles offered him one of his marshmallows. Derek accepted.

Allison finished chewing. “Yuck! I'm so glad I don't' have werewolf senses. All that smelling has got to be gross.”

Isaac arrived, all cherubic smiles and curls. “Sorry I'm late. I lost track of time.” He collapsed on the ground near Scott. Allison grinned at him and offered a bite of her hot dog, which Isaac accepted with a feral chomp. When he was done chewing he presented his mouth to Allison, and she took it in a ketchupy kiss. Isaac leaned backwards to give Scott a kiss of his own. Pleased, Scott responded with vigor.

It was at this point that Chris and John made their way over to the campfire. John was wearing his best Sheriff-catching-kids-up-to-no-good face. Chris was frowning.

“Hey kids. It's awfully late to still be up, don't you think?” John said, eyeing each of them in turn.

Everyone froze and stopped what they were doing. Scott and Allison shared a panicky look.

Chris scowled with hunter-filled disapproval. “Allison dear. Aren't you supposed to be in bed, at home, asleep?” He asked with a deceptively light tone.

Allison blanched and turned away. She angled her body so that she was in front of Isaac, while Scott used both hands on Isaac's waist to pull the slimmer man closer to him.

“You know Dad.” Allison conceded. “You are absolutely right. I'll just head back there now.” She backed away from her father, towards the street. Scott quickly put Isaac behind him and told him to stay there.

“Not so fast young lady.” Chris said in his best dad voice. He stepped closer to his daughter, placing himself between Scott and Allison.

“Scott,” Chris continued, face red and eyes blazing. “Just what were you planning to do with your friend and my daughter in your tent?”

“Um nothing sir.” Scott said with a hard swallow and shake to his head. “Absolutely nothing. We were planning to study. For a test on Monday. A pop quiz. Yeah. That's all we were going to do. In the tent. The three of us. Study.”

Allison darted her eyes between her father and Scott. “Yeah Dad. We were just going to be studying.”

Chris cocked his head and eyed his daughter speculatively. “Studying. In a tent. In the middle of the night. With two boys. And no books?”

Allison looked at her feet, unable to say anything else.

Chris aimed a threatening glare at Scott and then Isaac, who immediately ducked his head behind Scott's. Chris could be scary when he wanted to be.

Chris turned back to his daughter and wrapped a strong arm around her. "Why don't I drive you home now and you can do your studying in your own room, where it's warm."

\--------------------------------

John approached Stiles, noting that Derek still held him close.

“Hi Dad. Nice night isn't it?” Stiles waved.

Derek looked at John and tried to smile. He wasn't especially successful, but at least he tried. “You should have just told him about us when I told you to.” Derek said to Stiles, still trying to maintain his smile at the Sheriff.

“What? I had no way of knowing he'd find out like this.” Stiles said, clearly believing he has a legitimate reason for keeping his boyfriend a secret.

“If you'd just told him in the first place he wouldn't' have to find out like this.” Derek argued. "And we wouldn't be in this position now."

John watched his son and his son's boyfriend squabble. In his head, several pieces of the puzzle that was his beloved, if quirky son, fell into place. The recommendations for lube made so much more sense now. The red face, irritated from beard burn. The cooperative spirit when Stiles discovered his father was dating another guy. John should have figured it out earlier; the clues were all there.

“So Derek, you're the one I've heard in my son's room in the middle of the night?” John squinted his eyes, not going for threatening, but maintaining his full authority as Sheriff and parent.

“Yes Sheriff. That would be me.”

“Uh huh.” John said and then closed his mouth, hoping Derek would fill the silence.

Which worked beautifully because Derek was suddenly offering up all kinds of information. “We've been dating for a few months now. I encouraged Stiles to tell you, especially since at 17, he is still underage and at 23, I am not. I would have preferred to have your approval before beginning any courtship. But you know Stiles. He had his own plan and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise.”

“And a good plan it was too.” Stiles added diplomatically.

Derek glared at Stiles, accusation and amusement in his eyes. “And what was your plan? To never tell him and hope he didn't find out until you were in college and we were already _mated_?”

Stiles glanced down sheepishly. “I was mainly holding out until I was 18, but longer would have been okay too.”

John was still stuck on the words courtship and mated. Those sounded distinctly like werewolf declarations of intent. “That's enough Stiles. Tell Derek goodbye. We're going home now.”

Surprised, Stiles turned to his dad. “What! You don't want Derek to come too so you can threaten him with guns and tofu?”

Derek pinched Stiles lightly. “I'm not afraid of guns or tofu Stiles.”

“Yeah, but Dad didn't know that, until you had to go and tell him!” Stiles punched Derek in the arm, then pulled away. He hopped up and down, doing the owie dance. “Ow, ow, ow! Werewolf muscles are hard. Remind me to punch you someplace soft next time.” Stiles glanced Derek over from head to foot and lost himself for a moment. Shaking himself he said, “If I can find someplace soft. You work out so much you're hard just about everywhere.”

Stiles began to run his fingers experimentally over Derek's arms, chest and back, ostensibly looking for a softer place to punch.

John rubbed his hand over his face. “All right Stiles, that's enough.”

Stiles stopped feeling Derek up and his ears pinked up prettily.

“I'm not planning on threatening anyone Stiles.” John said, the paragon of patient fatherhood. “You _have_ been lying to me though, and now you've gotta come home and pay the piper.”

“But Dad!” Stiles whined. “We've started imprinting or something. We have to see each other every day or bad stuff happens.”

John turned to Derek. “Is that true? Is there some type of health thing involved in seeing each other every day?”

Derek pinched Stiles again. Stiles jumped, squeaked and then grumbled under his breath.

“Yes Sheriff. It's best if Stiles and I see each other at least daily. It's complicated. I had hoped to explain all of this to you _ahead of time_ , but Stiles insisted we wait.”

Stiles looked awkwardly at his feet.

“Sounds like we need to have a family meeting then. Come on over tomorrow Derek. We'll have brunch and work it all out.” John felt old and tired and he was really wishing he had explored his new sexy skill set instead of ambushing his son. “Stay here a minute you two. Let me talk to Chris.”

Chris was whispering to Allison while giving Scott and Isaac the death stare of doom.

John stopped a few feet away. “Chris, can I have a minute?”

Chris ordered Allison to stay put. He walked closer to John. “Did you see her kissing both of them?” He whispered harshly then aimed another death glare to Scott and Isaac.

“Yeah Bull, you've got your hands full. Looks like we both do. I'm going to head on back with Stiles, to my place. You can take Allison home.”

Chris put both of his hands on John's shoulders and leaned forward to bump their foreheads together. John rested his hands on Chris's waist. “It'll be okay Bull. You don't have to figure it all out tonight.”

Chris took a deep, shuttering breath. “Yeah. Yeah, you're right.”

“Look.” John said with a comforting squeeze of hands. “Call me when you get settled, no matter how late, or early. Call me and we'll talk it out before you have to talk to Allison or make any big changes. You're not alone Bull. Remember. You've got me in your court. You don't have to figure it all out by yourself.”

Chris nodded. He pressed his lips to John's in a quick, chaste kiss. “Thanks old man. I'll remember that.”

John pulled Chris in for a hug. He whispered closely to Chris's ear. “I love you Chris. I'm here for you.” John felt Chris's body relax against his own.

“I love you too John.” Chris murmured in return. They pulled out of the hug and turned back towards their children.

John watched Chris and Allison walk away then turned his attention to Scott and his new boyfriend Isaac. John wondered briefly to himself if perhaps there was something in the water, or maybe it had to do with werewolf phermones.

“Scott.” John said, wearing his best expression of long suffering fatherhood. “You want to tell me what's going on?”

“Yes son, I think you should.” Melissa, wrapped in flannel pajamas and a fuzzy robe, approached the group with determined strides. “And introduce your friend while you're at it.”

Isaac walked around Scott and stood next to him, instead of behind him. “I think you've met already Mom.” Scott said.

Melissa looked down at Scott's and Isaac's hands which were clasped tightly between them. “Isaac, yes?” she said with a gentle smile.

“Yes ma'am. We met at a lacrosse game a while back.”

“I remember. I didn't realize Scott was dating you in addition to Allison.”

Isaac looked down as a blush washed over his pale skin. “It's complicated.” He admitted.

“Well why don't you two boys come on in the house and we'll talk about it over cocoa.” Melissa turned to John. “Sheriff, you and the other boys are welcome to join us.”

“Ah, thanks. But no. Stiles is going to take me home. Give me a call tomorrow, and we'll work this out—you, me and Chris.”

The Sheriff turned to Stiles. “All right son, let's head home. Derek, I expect you at my place for Sunday Dinner. Be early.”

Derek smiled in relief. “Yes sir, of course. Stiles' tells me it's pot luck, should I bring anything?”

John nodded. “Yeah son. Bring a 12-pack of Natty Light and don't be late!”

That was when his beeper went off.

“Crap!” the Sheriff exclaimed. “Stiles, drive me straight to the station. Derek, you're staying over with Stiles tonight. I need someone to watch him while I'm out.”

Startled, Derek agreed quickly. “Of course sir. Not a problem.”

“Dad.” Stiles whined as he headed towards his jeep. “I'm 17 years old. I don't need someone to watch me just because you have to work late. Jiminy Cricket! You treat me like I'm 12, not 17!”

Incredulous, John frowned at his son. “Stiles, I just told your boyfriend to stay over with you, while I'm out of the house. How is that treating you like a child?”

Stiles' mouth closed with a pop. “You make an excellent point, oh-father-of-mine. Tell me, what's the call tonight?”

“Domestic dispute. Out at the organic farm. Jan and Sonja are at it again. The deputies would have handled it but Sonja scares them too much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, the return of the cockatrices...


	11. Sunday Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not especially kind to Allison in this chapter, in this whole fic, in fact. I adore the actress who plays her, very talented and just breath takingly beautiful. Sadly, in this chapter she is the heavy.

The water was hot. Extremely hot. It skittered the sharp edge between scalding and blistering. John watched Chris lazing prettily in the Jacuzzi on the back deck of Chris's gigantic mansion of a home, incredulous that his friend and partner could withstand the heat.

The Sheriff stood at the top step, taking his sweet time before attempting the next step down. Chris reclined against the edge of the deep tub, only his head and carefully wrapped cast above the water. Both men wore baggy grandpa swim trunks for modesty's sake. After all, Allison was up in her room, grounded and sulking with a window that had recently been booby-trapped to prevent the entry of any nocturnal werewolves. There was no need to traumatize the girl with old guys in speedos. There would be plenty of time for that after the kids left for college.

“For Pete's sake Bull, why is this water so blasted hot?” John questioned his tranquil friend.

Chris was sheepish. “It's leftover from right after Victoria died.”

John gestured for him to go on and took another step down before sucking in his breath and hissing from the heat.

“When it's so hot you almost can't stand it, then it fills your senses completely and you can't think of anything else, for a while at least. You can't think about your dead wife or your dead sister or your crazy dead father, or the failure of your personal code or how your daughter's dating not one, but _two_ werewolves. You just feel the heat and it sucks up all your brain and there's no room left in there to think about anything else. It's so hot because it has to be that hot for my brain to get a vacation from itself.”

“I used to take overly hot showers. We never had a jacuzzi. It did the same thing.” John admitted.

Chris looked up at his friend and licked his lips before letting his gaze wander over John's exposed skin, firm abs, strong legs and muscular arms. The Sheriff was in very good shape for a man his age and Chris appreciated every inch of him. “I guess it's time to turn the heat down a little. My brain has better things to occupy itself now.”

John was flattered by Chris's attention and took the moment to preen.

“So tell me about the cockatrices. What happened out at the organic farm?” Chris said with genuine interest in his pale blue eyes.

John took the third step into the hot water, still reluctant to immerse himself completely.

“When I got there the cockatrices were literally storming the place. Sonja and Jan were arguing with one another and the birds were running everywhere, at least a dozen of them. One of them was eating the farm cat, which I gather had just weaned her kittens. Jan was distraught. She kept saying over and over again that she just wanted it to end.”

Chris watched, enthralled with the man and maybe the story as well.

“I brought several deputies with me, cause you never know what you'll find in a domestic disturbance. They can turn ugly so fast, and Sonja and Jan had been escalating. Sonja really needs some anger management courses and maybe a less stressful job.

“Anyway, the situation was clearly out of control and I told the deputies to just shoot the birds and then lop off their heads. They've been killing so much livestock recently that they seemed to have developed a knack for it. They were like professional livestock executioners. It took a little while, but we got them.”

“All of them?” Chris asked.

“Yup, near as I could tell. They had a big nest in the barn. You would have loved it. There were feathers and a few eggs, which are down at the station in evidence right now.”

“So Jan and Sonja were husbanding the cockatrices, like cattle or ostriches? Wait, did they ever even have ostriches?”

“Nope, no ostriches, just cockatrices. They were planning on cornering the market on organic turkey. Only they tried a flock of turkeys and for some reason they didn't do well. So the ladies looked into what other types of birds they could try and some old farmer guy sold them a flock of cockatrices. Jan and Sonja figured they could raise them and then process them like turkey, only since they're so much larger than turkey, it would be more profitable for them in the long run.  Apparently cockatrices taste really good.”

Chris hung his mouth open in surprise. John made his way to the bottom step of the jacuzzi and very slowly settled down next to Chris, hissing and clicking his tongue with the heat.

“So they were planning on marketing cockatrice meat to middle America.”

“Yup, they had a very sophisticated marketing plan. And cockatrices are so hearty, they're not half as delicate as real turkeys. Apparently the ladies were planning on making a fortune. I guess they didn't realize that cockatrices are carnivorous.”

Chris shook his head. “I guess not.”

John floated himself over Chris's lap, facing him. He leaned forward and slid his lips over the other man's, pressing his tongue inside Chris's welcoming mouth. They kissed easily, but not with real intent. Not yet. Allison was upstairs. Stiles was waiting on his dad. Melissa had two boys, no—werewolves, under her roof and Chris and John still had their own domestic issues to figure out.

\------------------------------------

Sunday Dinner started early the following day. No one prepared anything from turkey. There was a venison roast, given to the Sheriff by Deputy Greenberg, who's father was a butcher. The deputy had given the Sheriff so much meat that his freezer was overflowing, and there were promises of more. The werewolves approved because they all loved venison, even when it was cooked. Stiles approved because wild game was much lower in fat and cholesterol than supermarket meat.

The family meeting took place over dessert which was a vat of ginger peach crumble topped with heart-healthy rolled oats. Low-fat ice cream was available to make it extra good.

John and Chris looked at one another and shared a quick string of couple's telepathy.

John glanced around the table, which was very crowded, and cleared his throat. “Melissa, if you'd like to start.”

Melissa placed her spoon in her bowl and smiled benevolently. “Of course.” She gestured to John and Chris with her hands. “We parents have discussed this with our children and with one another and we've come to a few conclusions.”

Allison, Scott, Isaac, Stiles and even Derek, perked up and paid attention.

Melissa continued. “We understand that there are some werewolf mating customs going on that have a biological element, which affects the health and well-being of those involved.”

Stiles and Derek, who sat next to each other grinned and squeezed hands under the table. Well Derek almost grinned. He tried to grin. Stiles knew he was grinning on the inside. That was all that really mattered.

Melissa paused for effect before carrying on. “John, Chris and I have chosen to treat these as if they were cultural differences or like they were mating customs from a foreign country. We may not understand them completely, but we can respect them. Certainly the well being of our children is of paramount importance to us all. Therefore we will make allowances for imprinting and other significant werewolf courtship requirements.”

The relief in the air felt like a snapped rubber band. John could feel the tension drain from the room.

John picked up the conversation. “Stiles, you and Derek will be allowed to see one another daily. Melissa tells me that Isaac and Scott are imprinting too. Melissa you have decided that you want Isaac to live with you now? Is that right?”

“Yes. Isaac will be living in my house with Scott and I. He's so close to 18, we don't think the courts will give us a problem about it and it will allow Scott and Isaac to maintain daily contact.” Melissa turned a fond eye to both of her boys. “I understand werewolves mate for life, so I'm happy to get to know my son's partner so early in the game.”

Isaac and Scott beamed at one another.

Chris took his turn to speak. “Allison, boys. John and I have considered the situation carefully. You'll all be heading off to college in a year and a half. John and I will be sad to see you go, but happy to help you get on with your adult lives. In the interest of moving forward with our own lives I will be placing my home up for sale and Allison, you and I will be moving into John's house.”

Allison was not a happy camper. “What about all of our stuff? Why can't they move in with us? Where will I sleep?” She asked, voice high, and childlike.

Chris tried to give his daughter a look of encouragement. He failed one hundred and two percent. “Our house holds too many sad memories for me. For you too, I suspect. It will be easier to rebuild our lives in a different home. There are four bedrooms upstairs. Is that right John?”

John nodded, silently offering his partner as much strength as he could.

“You can choose which of the two empty ones you prefer. We'll paint it and get it settled for you. John has agreed to let me have a private bathroom installed for you as well, whichever room you choose. It's important that a girl have her privacy in a house full of men.”

“You're over mom, aren't you Dad. You're over her and that's it. You're getting on with your life.” Allison accused, eyes flashing with distress and anger.

“No Allison. I am not over your mother. I will never be over your mother. I love her and will continue to love her for the rest of my life.”

Allison gave her father an impatient frown. “Well I'm not over her and I don't want to live in your boyfriend's house with your boyfriend's son as some sort of quasi-stepbrother. I want mom back and I want my life back and I want things to be easy again.” Tears fell from Allison's eyes, hot and stinging and filled with regret.

Isaac and Scott went to her, flanked her, one boy on each side. They held her in a consoling embrace, whispering kindnesses into her ears, wiping her tears with sticky, peach coated napkins.

John patted Scott on the arm. “Take her up to the guest rooms Scott. Let her have a look at them.” Scott nodded, then lead Isaac and Allison away.

“Leave the door open!” Chris hollered after them.

John held Chris's hand. “We couldn't make everyone happy Bull. At least after you sell the house, she can pretty much choose which college she wants to attend.”

Chris tried to smile and almost managed it.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Melissa left with her boys later that evening. John walked them out. Isaac and Scott's relationship with Allison was going to be challenging for Chris to navigate, John thought to himself. Melissa promised to keep the lines of communication open. On the way out the door John managed to corner Scott briefly.

“ _Stubborn_ as a bull.” John whispered into Scott's ear.

Scott blushed. “I'll remember Mr. Stilinski. It suits him.”

With his arm around Isaac, Scott walked with his mother to the car. He looked up at Allison's window and waved.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Chris helped Allison situate herself in one of the guest rooms. She wasn't sure which she preferred yet, so she was trying them both out before making her decision. For the first time, she and her father brought overnight bags to Sunday Dinner at the Sheriff's house. Over the next few weeks they would move their things into the Stilinski house, which would soon be the Stilinski/Argent house. Allison wondered to herself if that would be Stargent or Argenski?

Her dad kissed her goodnight and she snuggled into her foreign smelling blankets, in her dreary room, and told herself that her mom would want her dad to be happy. Allison didn't believe that yet, but she would repeat it to herself until it became true.

\--------------------------------------------------------

John knocked on Stiles' door and waited for an invitation before entering. It was the polite thing to do, but mostly it kept him from walking in on anything he didn't want to see. Stiles sat in his desk chair; Derek lolled on the bed. Stiles looked twitchy.

“Did you get all the groceries on the list this morning and then put them away?” John asked his son with raised eyebrows.

Stiles gave him a dirty look. “Yes Dad. I bought everything on the list and then put them all away. Why do you ask?”

John's eyes twinkled. “With so many adults in the house now, it's important that we always be prepared.”

“Do you know how embarrassing it was Dad? To buy six bottles of lube and the extra jumbo box of condoms? The old lady who checked me out looked at me like I was some kind of juvenile delinquent. She was just waiting for me to do something illegal to the cucumbers or the bananas. I could see it in her eyes. She was just waiting, and hoping. I'm sure she was disappointed when all I did was pay for the groceries and leave.”

John chuckled and didn't bother to hide it. “Son, it's easier for everyone if we keep all the bedrooms and both bathrooms equipped with condoms and lubricant. I don't want Allison to be too embarrassed to ask for them, and then not use them when she needs them. Besides, with so many people in the house now, or at least soon, it makes sense to buy in bulk. I expect you to replenish the condoms and lube as needed. As a matter of fact, while I'm thinking of it you should buy another six bottles of lube and another jumbo box of condoms next week and keep them in the linen closet so supplies can be replenished easily as they run out. Tell Allison about them too. She'll be less embarrassed if you tell her than if I do.”

Feeling especially put upon, Stiles sighed dramatically. “I don't know why she even needs lube, she's a chick. Chicks are self-lubricating.”

John cleared his throat. He glanced up at Derek who frowned, then turned his lips up into a crooked grin at Stiles' confusion. “Derek, I'll let you explain why Allison might need lube to my blessedly naive son.”

“Yes sir.” Derek nodded to the Sheriff, then turned his attention to Stiles. “She may not necessarily need it, but Scott or Isaac might, and since they're both dating her, it might be something she needs access to when the three of them are together.”

Stiles covered his eyes. “No, no, it burns.” he cried. There are some things a guy just doesn't want to know about his best friend.

John turned to leave. “Derek if you stay the night, you have breakfast with us in the morning, no sneaking off out the window.”

“Yes sir, of course.” Derek quickly agreed.

John shut the door and chuckled to himself quietly. Lots of lube indeed.

\-------------------------------------------------------

At the door to his own room John paused and took in the scene. Chris was on the right side of the queen-size bed, shirtless, under the covers, with his back against the headboard. He was reading John's copy of the magazine _Shotgun News_. His clean clothes were hanging in the closet and his dirty clothes were halfway in the hamper. A pair of reading glasses perched lightly on Chris's nose. He glanced up and over them at John.

“What are you smiling about old man?” Chris asked, his lips pursed and moist.

“I made Stiles buy six tubes of lube and the jumbo box of condoms and I told him he has to do it again next week.” John said, smirking. He shut the door behind him and stripped down to his skin. He tossed his own dirty clothes in the hamper over Chris's.

“Well at least Allison won't have to ask me for them now. Thanks for doing that by the way.”

“No problem Bull. That's what partners do for each other. Besides, it's strangely satisfying to make Stiles be in charge of keeping the household stocked with condoms and lube. It's part of being a grownup. If you can have sex, you can buy sexual supplies.” John was really getting a kick out of this.

“Speaking of sexual supplies....” Chris set his magazine aside and removed his glasses. He patted the bed in invitation. “We have a brand new bottle of lube and I am very anxious to test out our new gay sex skills.”

John groaned and sprang onto the bed. He wrangled Chris to the center and bit his lips with vigor. Then he kissed the bite marks, soothing and inflaming Chris with a swipe of his tongue. Chris reached his tongue out to connect with his partner's, licking, stroking and sucking until their mouths were plump and red.

“John I want you. I want you so bad. I've been waiting and I've been patient and I am not going to be patient any more.” Chris whispered in John's ear.

“Tell me what you want Bull. Tell me what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a moment to let me know who you want to top and who you want to bottom for the Sheriff and Chris's first time. I've tried to figure it out for myself and I need your input. I can write it either way, so share your preference and the majority will rule.


	12. Double Daddy Fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is Double Daddy Fantasy which is a lovely term gifted to me by Psionycx. Delighted with the phrase I doubled wrapped it for freshness and stashed it in my phrase freezer to pull out specifically as a title for this chapter. Without further ado I give you John & Chris's first time.

Chris whimpered “I want you—in me. I want to feel you inside.”

Chris's hot breath against John's ear made his skin horripilate in pleasure. “Do you want my fingers or something bigger?”

Chris bit down on John's earlobe. His lips curled up at John's gasp. “I want to start with your fingers and then go from there.”

John ground his pelvis against Chris, arousal sparking up his spine. “Your wish is my command.” John flashed his best pirate grin before lifting himself up. He took the lubricant from Chris, then stretched over the younger man, taking the time to rub their bellies together briefly through the stretch. Chris grunted in surprise. John grabbed Chris's glasses from the bedside table and perched them back on his partner's face.

Chris quirked his eyes in question.

“What? They're sexy.” John said with a huff. “I like you in your glasses, you're like a sexy secretary, only you know, a guy secretary. And you're all mine, and I can bend you over the desk while you take my _dick_ -tation.”

Chris snorted at his partner's cheesy porn dialogue, then adjusted his glasses and lifted his eyes up to John before blowing him a kiss. “Now they're called administrative assistants, dear.”

John frowned, “That's not half as sexy as secretary.”

“That's probably why they changed it.” Chris ran his hands down his torso, pausing to squeeze his own nipples and then squeeze them again, harder. “I'm ready for your _dick_ -tation, Mr. Stalinski. Do you want me here like this, or bent over something?”

John's mouth fell open a little and he had to lick his lips quickly before drool dribbled out. “I want you like this, so I can see you. With your glasses on. And your dick all hard and happy to see me.” He added the last bit with a quick lick to Chris's fingers as the younger man pinched his own nipples yet again. John moved Chris's hands away, licked, then sucked and nibbled, moving from one nipple to the next. He was quick to discern that Chris preferred nipple play that was hard and rough. John had never used his teeth much around nipples but he was willing to experiment, and if it got him results like this, well... he was willing to learn a whole new skill set.

Chris arched his back, pressing his chest upwards, into John's willing mouth. With one hand he pressed John's mouth down harder, urging more pressure and deeper suction. John continued his ministrations until Chris's tiny man nipples were as fat, as heated and as red as they could get.

“Fuck. Your mouth.” Chris's voice ghosted in John's ear.

“I wonder where else my mouth might be useful?” John queried as he moved his face down Chris's torso, taking the time to suck up a bruise or two along the way.

“Show me.” Chris said, voice thick with sex, hands tangled in the short locks of John's hair. He tugged gently on the strands as John found a particularly tender spot down the diagonal line between torso and thigh. Chris bucked in surprise then moaned in approval. John rewarded his lover with a few more tasty tickles along that sensitive spot.

After drifting lower still, John's face found Chris's dick. He ran his nose lightly up the underside to the tip and then back down again.

Chris raised his hands up to his own hair and pulled it lightly. “Yes, yes. Please.” He murmured.

John held the dusky member in his hands, stretched out his tongue and licked the tip. It tasted like skin, which he knew by rights would be what it tasted like, but he had built it up in his head to taste more manly, more musky. Skin was easy. He was totally down with skin. Licking lightly John took his time getting to know Chris's cock more intimately. Soon he closed his mouth over the tip and sucked, lightly at first, and then with more diligence. Chris's squeaky inhale gave him courage. He sucked in more, wondering how people learned to take in more than a few inches. Very soon he had overdone it and gagged himself. He moved off the tip, grabbed the base and pumped.

Chris chanted encouragements of “Yes, yes, yes!” in a low whimper.

It's like a hand-job with a little tongue action at the top, John thought to himself as he suckled the tip. He continued for several strokes and then several more. Pausing, he ran his tongue up and down the length, allowing his tongue to take in the drops of precum as they beaded randomly on the tip. He sucked again, accustoming himself to his appointed task, all the while mentally patting himself on the back as he witnessed Chris's desire ratchet up higher and then higher still.

“You ready Bull?” John asked quietly, slipping his mouth from his lover's cock.

“Yes, yes. Ready.” Chris's eyes were dilated, his cock was hard and his skin was flushed. He was definitely ready for the next step.

Balancing himself on his knees John nudged Chris's legs until Chris got with the program and spread them open wide. John gazed down at his lover's hard cock, loose balls and dusky hole. He smiled to himself then knelt down and licked at the balls hanging so provocatively on display. Chris was making fewer noises that usual, possibly because the kids were just down the hall. John found himself missing the sex sounds and dirty talk.

Then he tongued deeper, behind the furry balls, to the musky center of Chris's ass. Lifting Chris's legs, for easier access, John found the scent, the flavor, he was searching for. This was the masculine center to Chris's tootsie pop. He licked the wrinkled edges, pressing his face close, his nose deep in the country of hairy ball sacks, eyes closed in blissful surrender to his own success.

Chris writhed on the bed, hands wrapped around his legs to lift them higher still. “Your tongue.” He said between pants. “It's good, so good.”

John grunted and licked deeper. He managed to get the tip of his tongue inside, darting, pushing, and then retreating, only to do it all over again. Chris's legs shook with the effort it took to hold them up, his breath came in rasping pants. John felt like a god among men. He was doing this to Chris. He was making his lover, his partner, break down to shuddering breaths.

John found his groove, kneaded the globes of Chris's ass, nosed under his balls and ate his ass until it was dripping with his saliva, loose and tender. Pulling back, he gently placed Chris back down on the bed then carefully positioned pillows under him.

Chris's gaze burned up at him, glasses a little foggy, eye fucking him until John had to look away. It was far too easy to lose himself is those eyes, colored the lightest blue of glacial ice, but warm with the affection he so fiercely held for John. John shook himself and returned his focus to the task at hand. After finding the temporarily misplaced bottle of lube he rubbed it in his hands to warm it up slightly, then drizzled it onto his fingers. It was way more slippery than he thought it would be. It was like banana peels and soap suds had an ass baby and it was lube. John shook his head and pressed one slippery finger against Chris's spit-slick hole. He pushed gently and circled, using the same movement his tongue had applied just moments before.

Chris moaned, “Push in John. Put it in me.”

John pushed his finger forward through the relaxed tightness until it popped through the outer ring and his finger was inside. He wiggled it a little bit and then did it again because he liked how it made Chris squirm. Before he knew it, John was pistoning his slippery finger in and out of Chris's hole while watching Chris butt-dance on his pillow pile. Oh yeah! John would soon be the master of butt-sex-foo. He withdrew his single finger, applied more lube (there is never enough lube, he reminded himself) and pressed both fingers tenderly into Chris's waiting hole. Chris wriggled and danced and panted and cried for more. So John obliged him. He stretched his fingers apart, still shocked at the vice-like grip Chris's ass held on his fingers. It took strength to scissor his fingers and stretch his partner, making him wider still. When John worked up to three fingers he remembered the video instructions on finding and finessing your partner's prostate. John prided himself on being a considerate lover so he immediately put his fingers to work, pressing, stretching, seeking the bump he was after.

Chris mewed. He really did. He opened his mouth and mewed like a cat eating tuna fish and getting a full body rub down with a chaser of organic heavy cream. “I have a prostate.” Chris moaned, and then quickly added. “Do it again.”

John bumped it again and then again and then one more time, just to prove to himself that he could. He watched Chris fall apart more and more with every inner nudge.

Chris reached a hand down, seeking out his own cock to add just a little bit of something extra to his pleasure. Using his free hand, John batted Chris away. “Not yet, soon. But not yet.” he consoled Chris kindly.

“It's like a sneeze only way more intense and down there instead of in your nose.” Chris's mouth was open wide in wonder. “Do it again.” He demanded.

“Not yet.” John carefully withdrew his fingers, then squirted lube on his red and swollen cock, taking the time to coat it thoroughly and perhaps lingering briefly on the glorious slipperiness of his hand over his own cock. It just felt so gosh-darned good.

Getting himself back to business John lifted one of Chris's legs over his arm and splayed the other leg to the side. He lined up his dick with Chris's eager hole and pressed in with the industry of a tailor threading his needle.

It was tight, way tighter than any pussy he'd ever been it. Chris clenched his muscles briefly and John's eyes closed while they visited the back of his head for a brief vacation. He wasn't certain but his head may have spun all the way around once or twice too. Butt-sex was good. Very, very good.

Chris sucked in a breath and bore down. “Deeper.” He panted. “More.”

John had already conditioned himself to listen to Chris and do what he told him to do, so it was an easy matter to obey. He went deeper and gave Chris more and Chris sang his gratitude into the night, loudly and possibly with three part harmony.

“Fuck me Sheriff, fuck my ass!” Chris demanded through stuttering breaths. John complied with his most cooperative and generous intentions. He pulled out and pushed in, hard. He fucked that ass, just like Chris wanted him to, and he kept doing it.

Chris moved, bucking up against John, slamming into him, thrust for thrust. He curled his abs tighter, moving the angle just enough. “Right there, right there. That's where I want it. That's where I want your fat cock right there on that... Oh God, John you are a _demigod_ in the bedroom! You are an ancient hero. You are a man of renown. I will sing praises of your prowess at the city gates.”

John chuckled and kept on fucking. Sweat fell from his brow, his abs and glutes flexed with effort. He found himself thankful over and over again that he had managed to spend time at the gym so he had the muscular force necessary to fuck Chris through the mattress and into the floor.

Chris's hands were over his face, rubbing his eyes, pulling his own hair, fingering his own mouth and sucking his fingers until mouth was full. His cock bobbed and weaved with every thrust of John's cock into his ass. As if reminded that he still had a cock Chris reached down, remembered his cast and barked in frustration.

“Help me baby. Help me. Touch me, I'll do it with you.” Chris nearly sobbed with need.

John reached one hand down to Chris's cock and squeezed tightly, the way he knew his lover preferred. Chris's hand fit over John's and they established a rhythm that pulsed in harmony with the acid rock of John's thrusting hips. Hands squeezed; uglies bumped; two lovers seduced one another with eyes, lips and tongue. Chris strangled out a wheezing cry as jizz squirted from cock onto his belly and chest. It didn't hit his glasses but John pretended like it did and came like a California wildfire after three months of draught. It burned through his spine and out his dick and into Chris's hole while Chris panted and muttered below him.

John rolled over and landed beside Chris with a thump. He reached his closest hand over to rest on Chris's belly and caught his breath slowly. “I'd forgotten how good sex is. We need to have more Bull. Lot's more. Maybe quickies in my office at work. We should learn to do blowjobs next. I bet there's instructional porn on the internet.”

Chris snorted good naturedly.

“For Heaven's sake people!” Came a muffled voice from somewhere down the hall, outside their bedroom. “Some of us are trying to sleep. Would you just stop now and go to bed!”

Chris snorted again then rolled over to hide his head in the crook of John's shoulder. John's entire body shook with mirth.

\---------------------------------------------

The next morning Stiles, Allison and Derek all refused to look Chris or John in the eye. For the most part, the kids avoided looking at the dads all together. The two men kissed over the stove and giggled like little girls. At least they did until the hot skillet popped burning oil onto them and sent them both running for cover and t-shirts. Never fry turkey bacon or eggs while shirtless. You'll always regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so challenging for me as a writer because I am female, not male. I do not have a penis and I do not know what gay sex feels like or smells like or tastes like or anything of that nature. So, this is strictly based upon speculation on my part, M/M ebook collections I've devoured, and the odd gay porno I may have watched here or there (Twinklight, the gay porn adaptation of Twilight is hysterical!) So I did the best I could under the circumstances and while it's not perfect, I was satisfied with my first effort at writing gay intercourse. It was harder than I thought it would be, but not as difficult as it might have been. Six of one, half dozen of the other. 
> 
> Also, there is probably one, or more likely, two, more chapters, maybe 3 if I write an epilogue, I'm not sure if I'll need one or not. I will give Chris a chance to top and then wrap up the story line, which may or may not have an additional twist waiting in the wings. 
> 
> Many Thanks for all of my readers, you guys rock!


	13. Chris's Turn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently looking for a Teen Wolf-friendly message board or fan forum. I know a lot of Teen Wolf fandom takes place on Tumblr. I'm looking for something more like a message board. So if you have any recommendations, please leave the url in a comment. I'm desperate to get my fangeek on with like minded folks. Many thanks to all of you, especially for all the kudos and comments, they have made writing this such a pleasure.
> 
> There will be one more chapter after this one. So we're almost at the end.

A couple of weeks later John drove himself into work quietly pondering the changes in his life. Chris and Allison were still in the center of the messy process of moving into his house. They spent all of their nights together at the Stilinski house now and it gave John a sense of stability that made everything else in his life make sense again. He breathed freely, his dreams were kind to his subconscious, and his dick was happier than it had been in a decade. A sigh of contentment passed through his lips as he turned into the sheriff's department and nearly ran over a cockatrice.

The weird thing wasn't the bridle over the cockatrice's beady-eyed face and sharp, pointed beak. The weird thing wasn't the blue fringed saddle or braided reins. Nope, the really weird thing was the small farmer dude in worn overalls and a straw hat who sat astride the cockatrice like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked like old black and white photos John had seen in National Geographic of wealthy Edwardian ladies learning to ride ostriches. The odd man appeared to have a long braid of black and gray hair hanging down the center of his back. John speculated that he might be a hippie farmer. After all, California was full of them, although usually not in the Sheriff's parking lot and usually not mounted on a cockatrice.

John stepped out of his car, assured himself that his gun was holstered within easy reach and slowly approached the farmer. He stopped a few feet from the other man.

“Can I help you sir?” John asked using his polite but authoritative Sheriff voice.

The smaller man squinted at John and said, “You are the Sheriff John Stilinski?”

“That I am. And you are....”

“I am The Farmer.” The smaller man answered, making it clear that his title was capitalized and perhaps italicized too. He smiled with a glint of sharp teeth. “You may call me Mr. Farmer. I believe that is the correct method for your people.”

John's heart stuttered a beat and he went from yellow alert to red alert within the space of that heartbeat. “Mr. Farmer. What is it I can do for you then?” John kept his voice steady with long practice.

“I must inform you that I have retrieved the eggs from your station. They are my property by rights. I tell you as a courtesy, so you know where they have gone. You may put your mind to rest Sheriff John, the cockatrices have been removed from your territory.” Mr. Farmer said with a slight nod to his head.

John felt like he wasn't in Kansas any more.

Mr. Farmer laughed. “You are not yet in Oz either Sheriff John.”

John rubbed the back of his neck, determined not to react to the apparent mind-reading. “I appreciate the information Mr. Farmer. Was there anything else?”

The small man on the puffy cockatrice shook his head. He turned his mount expertly, galloped several yards and then with a few beats of muscular wings was in the air, flying towards the clouds.

John made his way into the Sheriff's station and spent some time in his evidence locker, confirming the fact that the eggs were gone. Yup, only the feathers remained. Back at his desk John found a covered dish with a note written in scrolling script. It read:

_Stick with veggie burgers._

_Much better for your cholesterol._

In the covered dish was a portobello mushroom burger on a whole grain bun, with the works and a selection of fresh vegetable crudités. John set the platter aside for lunch. It was the best veggie burger he'd ever tasted.

\--------------------------------------------

John arrived home to a flurry of activity. He and Chris had agreed to replace some of his old and well worn furniture with items from Chris's McMansion. The living room furniture had been changed, as had most of the curtains. Allison was making her presence known by providing a woman's touch to most of the rooms in the house. John was happy to see her placing her stamp on things. Marking territory by redecorating was a healthy sign in a young woman. He reasoned that it meant she planned on staying.

Stiles was in the kitchen working on dinner while Derek helped Allison arrange the furniture to her exact specifications. Derek did the grunt work while Allison gave directions.

As John entered the living room Derek stopped and sniffed the air.

He came closer to John and sniffed again. “Do you mind?” Derek asked, gesturing to the Sheriff's neck.

John lifted his chin to give Derek better access.

“Go ahead.” John said. It was taking some time and adjustment, but John was trying to accommodate the odd wolfy behaviors from Derek, and to a lesser degree, Scott and Isaac.

Derek took a deep whiff of the Sheriff's neck. “Why do you smell like fae warrior?” Derek asked, perplexed.

John considered Derek's words and then realization clicked on his face. “It's a long story.” he sighed.

John went up to his room where he found Chris sitting on the bed scratching his cast-free arm like a fiend.

“Does it itch?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

“It feels sooo good just to scratch!” Chris murmured, eyes blissed out, fingers moving up and down his pale skin.

John was hot and sweaty and looking forward to a shower and sweat pants. As he unbuttoned his uniform shirt he said, "Do you want a sexy shower with a man who faced down a fae warrior today?"

Chris's face paled a little. “Fae warrior? Are you sure they're real?”

John shrugged his shoulders as he removed his shirt and tossed it into the hamper. “Derek said I smelled like a fae warrior, and after he said it, the whole thing clicked into place.”

“You don't think he could be pulling your leg?”

“Nope, I'm pretty sure fairies are a thing. This guy was definitely not human.” John described the encounter to Chris who had stopped scratching long enough to listen.

After hearing the story Chris turned twinkling his eyes up to John and unsuccessfully smothered a smirk. "So he stole your cockatrice eggs, left you a sandwich and flew a cockatrice off into the sunset?"

John dropped his uniform trousers and hung his belt over a chair. He refused to look at Chris, who was being willfully obtuse. “It's not funny. That guy was menacing and he had really sharp teeth.” John mumbled as he stripped off his boxers and walked to the bathroom.

The shower was hot, but not too hot. It felt good on the tense muscles in his neck and back. John frowned as he felt Chris enter the shower with him. Chris wrapped him in a hug from behind and held John close, skin against skin.

“I'm sorry old man.” Chris said with contrition. “I shouldn't make fun. Supernatural stuff can be pretty chilling sometimes. I know that for a fact."

John leaned his head back to be cradled by the crook of Chris's neck and shoulder. He snorted. “You owe me a back rub in penance.”

“As you wish.” Chris agreed and handed John the shower gel.

\-----------------------------------------------

After the shower they ate dinner. After dinner Scott and Isaac came over for actual studying and homework at the table. Chris was adamant that the studying take place at the table and not in Allison's bedroom.

In the living room, Derek sat in an arm chair, beer in hand, eyes on the television, grimace on his face. He appeared stiff and moderately uncomfortable. Chris sprawled on the couch, John on the floor, between Chris's legs. Chris rubbed John's shoulders and neck, eliciting an occasional grunt or groan when he found a particularly tender spot. The two men shared a Natty Light.

The TV was tuned into the weather channel. The first pregnant chick had finally given birth and was away on maternity leave. The new pregnant chick was only five or six months along but was showing enough to make her prime time material. The soft murmur of Chris and John discussing the weather and the pregnant chick could be heard over the TV.

“What are they doing?” Scott whispered to Allison who looked up, glanced at the two dads in the living room and then went back to her physics homework.

Allison kept her voice quiet. “They watch the weather channel together at night. Then they talk about the pregnant weather lady.”

“That's sort of creepy. Why do they do that?” Scott asked, watching the older men as subtly as he could.

Stiles answered. “It's like old guy porn or something. They watch the pregnant weather lady and then they go to bed and crank their radio up so we can't hear them making out.”

Scott's face turned red. “You can hear them—up there—you know—together.” He asked in a halting stutter.

Stiles grinned. “I can't but Derek can. Even over the radio. Sometimes it's too much for him, and he has to leave.”

Scott looked like he had just been told that Santa, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy were all make believe. “So they perv on the pregnant lady and they they perv on each other. Yuck! How can you guys stand it?”

Stiles was philosophical “At least they're not perving on your mom dude. It could be worse.”

Scott's face paled to a sickly white. Isaac snuzzled his face into Scott's neck. “Relax Scott. Your mom is safe.”

Scott snuzzled back. “Yeah, she probably can't get pregnant any more anyway. So—no worries.”

Derek frowned in their direction and Scott got back to work on his homework.

\-----------------------------------------------

Loud music blared from the radio, Chris's idea, so the sound of their intimacies wouldn't permanently scar the kids' psyches any further than they had already. Marvin Gaye sang soulfully about sexual healing while Chris worked his hungry mouth over John's erection. John was so hard that his cock literally throbbed on Chris's tongue. John's hands fisted in Chris's hair moving him gently, encouraging his partner to take him deeper and to suck harder. Chris was eager with his compliance.

John's face screwed up in tense pleasure. “Nope, you better stop, you better stop now. I won't be able to come again, not tonight. I wanna wait. Bull, Bull!”

John's hands on Chris's head tightened almost to the point of pain. He pulled his partner off of his cock with an audible pop.

Chris looked up at John, eyes glazed, visibly pulling himself back into the moment.

John loosened his grip in Chris's hair and petted the other man gently. “You've gotten way too good at that, Bull.” John panted, then coasted a thumb over Chris's swollen lips. Chris opened his mouth and sucked John's thumb inside. He ran his tongue over the thumb's pad and then up it's length before sucking it lightly. John watched his lover at work on his thumb and had to grab his cock tightly around the base to keep himself under control.

Chris's answering grin was toothy and well pleased. He released John's thumb and crept up his body. Leaned in for kiss and pressed his plump lips against John's with an aching moan. “Good Lord, what you do to me John.” Chris whispered between kisses, deep and sensual with plenty of tongue.

When they broke for air John leaned over to the bedside drawer. He withdrew the bottle of lube and handed it to Chris.

Chris accepted it and then placed his open hand onto John's cheek and jaw. He caressed lightly. “You're sure that you're ready?” Chris asked.

“Oh yeah. More than ready.” John confirmed, then rolled over onto hands and knees.

Chris was confused. “You got to watch me, why can't I watch you?”

John ducked his head into his hands for a moment, then lifted his head and turned his face, seeking Chris's eyes. He wiggled his butt a little for emphasis. “I'm a little nervous and this way is supposed to be more comfortable for the first time.”

Chris's voice turned sad. “Yeah, but I wanted to watch you, your face, your eyes for your first time. It's only fair, you got to watch me.”

John sat back up on the bed and leaned his weight against his partner. “I haven't had much in my ass before, besides your fingertip I mean. I've never had anything as big as a cock in it. Don't get me wrong, I want it. I want you.” John ran his fingers through Chris's hair, gently pinched his earlobe. “I just don't know what it's going to feel like and I'm nervous. I want to stack the deck in the favor of easy, especially the first time.”

Chris continued to pout. “It feels like a really hot shower or the jacuzzi that day, when it was super hot.”

John quirked his eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

Chris looked up, thought for a moment and then continued. “At first it almost hurts, like a hot shower. It's really intense, not painful, but intense. It fills all of your senses and you can't see or feel or think of anything else. It's just big, inside you and you feel full and consumed. Then you relax into it, and the heat spreads throughout your body and your mind and your spirit and it anchors you. Makes you solid and it's the best thing you've ever felt and you wish you could feel it every day, a couple of times a day. Because it feels so good. It soaks up all of you, every bit and it's good, and then even better and then it's the best thing you've ever felt in your entire life and then you come.” Chris met John's eyes and shared a tender smile. “And then you love the person who makes you feel that way.”

John's voice caught in his chest. “I want that Bull.” He whispered, eyes wide, mouth soft. “I want that with you.”

Chris leaned forward, holding John delicately and leaned him back down onto the bed. Chris kissed him, fondled his fingers, stroked over his partner's chest, up to his face. Held his face tenderly and kissed away every bit of tension, every worry, every fear. John felt his body relax into the comfort of the bed, their bed. The bed they shared together. The trust that grew in the privacy of their room surged inside of him. He nodded briskly. “Okay Bull. Yes. Yes.”

Sometimes you give your partner something they want, just because it makes them happy. John considered this one of those times.

Chris maneuvered himself between John's legs, pushed them up and apart. He stroked his hands over the muscles in John's arms, trailed his fingers lightly over the tickly places near John's hip bones. He swirled his fingers through the dark curls surrounding John's firm and leaking erection. He leaned down to kiss away the drops of precum beading at the tip. John sucked in his breath then let it out slowly.

Chris opened the lube and drizzled it over his fingers. With one hand he stroked John's cock and with the other he gave John's hole a solicitous massage. Rubbing around, slipping in a fingertip quickly and then out, and then around again. He did it over and over, pressing in a little further every time. He watched John, his eyes opening wide and then closing again, his mouth agape, cheeks and chest flushed with arousal.

Chris added more lube to his finger and pressed inside his lover, up to one knuckle and then the next. He moved his finger in and out, slowly and then picked up speed. John grabbed both of his legs and hoisted them up, giving Chris better access to his prize. With more lube Chris managed two fingers, stroking in and out. He kept a close eye on John, watching for discomfort, but maintaining a firm touch.

John was silent at first, waiting, feeling, deciphering what he thought of the experience. With three fingers inside of him the panting started, his shoulders tightened as he pulled his legs up higher, wanting more. Chris nudged his prostate every few strokes, making it nearly impossible for John to maintain his silence. He laughed, voice soft and breathy. “I'm ready Chris. I'm ready. I want to feel all of you. Inside me.”

Chris leaned in for a quick kiss, then a brief nibble on John's belly button. John shivered with it, waiting, anticipating the sweetness of the ache.

John liked Chris's cock. He admired it's velvet strength, the way it swelled prettily with his attention, it's scent and the bitter burst of sweetness it left upon his tongue. He especially liked it's symmetry, which brought to his mind classic images of Renaissance art and magazine ads of football players in pantyhose. John had a fondness and familiarity with Chris's cock rivaled only by the fondness and familiarity he felt for his own. This was particularly significant because the cock that he currently felt working it's way into his ass was clearly of equine or perhaps elephantine origin and not at all related to the friendly, familiar cock that he was accustomed to doing his socializing with. Clearly, the cock knocking on his back door was from a different species altogether.

John cringed.

Chris stopped immediately.

John's eyes opened wide and he sputtered.

Chris smiled with a lot of teeth. “More lube or more stretching?” he asked solicitously. "Or do you want to stop?"

“More lube.” John grunted.

Chris applied more lube, lifted John's legs over his shoulders and with a nod from John, plowed ahead. John tensed up like a virgin on his wedding night and let out an thick huff of air.

Chris stopped. He was in, past the outer ring of muscle, inside his partner's body. He let out a deep breath; stilled completely; watched John's face. “Breathe baby, that was the worst.” Chris comforted John, ran his hands up and down his thighs. “It only gets better now.” He breathed slowly, giving John a pattern to follow.

John's face and torso relaxed. He breathed deep and easy, following Chris's example, and settled back into his own skin. This wasn't so bad after all. Not half as bad as his imagination had made it out to be. He bore down. “More.” he ordered Chris, who obliged him slowly, with a steady pressure. Chris continued until his balls slapped into John's ass.

“I am balls deep inside you old man.” Chris said with a twinkle in his eye and an easy grin on his lips. “You're mine now. You belong to me. All those divorcées sniffing around you at the office, at the school, they are going to know, you belong to me.” Chris punctuated his statement with a rocking stroke in and out and then in again.

John gasped, moaned and covered his face with his hands. “Yours.” He agreed, filled with the shocking friction of his partner's cock rubbing against his prostate.

“You are so beautiful right now.” Chris crooned, gently rocking forward and back. “Don't hide from me baby. Let me see your face, let me see what you're feeling. Let me see what I do to you.”

John forced himself to move to arms away from his face, to open his eyes, to allow Chris to watch the wonder on his face as he relaxed into the pleasure and allowed it to consume him. He gave himself over to Chris, let go of everything as Chris took him apart piece by piece until he was nothing but skin and the sweat falling from his own brow.

Chris took his time, stroking slowly, gently, finding just the right angle to make John's mouth open and the tip of his pretty pink tongue to stick out with the overwhelming sensations coursing through his nerve endings and under his skin.

John's hands reached down to his cock, fondled it roughly, squeaked when Chris got the angle and the thrust just exactly right. “I'm close.” He panted, stroking his cock with a tight grip.

Chris lifted John's ass, leaned forward and pushed in hard. “Come with me.” He said. “We'll come together.”

John nodded, fisted his cock; kept his eyes open and focused on Chris.

“You look so good like this, like my very own porno come to life.” Chris said, voice breathy with exertion. “Your sweet ass, spread open so nicely for me. Tight and hot on my cock, squeezing me, milking me. You want me to come inside you don't you baby? You want to feel me shoot my come up inside you, so everyone knows who you belong to. I'm going to watch you fall apart on my cock. See your face and know that it's me making you feel like this. It's me making you loose it and jizz all over your chest, your hand, your fingers. That cock's not yours anymore John. It's mine and I want you to stroke it hard. Show me how you like it old man. Show me how you like to come for me.”

John lost it. He had become quite the sucker for Chris's dirty talk. It pushed him over the edge every time. He closed his eyes, grunted, remembered to open them for Chris to see, and then closed them again because it just felt so good. John's come spilled in messy ribbons over his belly and hands. Chris rammed his cock into John's ass and all John felt was the wash of his orgasm and the tight pleasure of being filled, possessed. Everything else bled away as his partner shot his load inside of him and all John could think of was Chris and he and the two of them together and all was right with his world.

\-----------------------------------------------

The next morning at breakfast Stiles informed the two men that he and Allison had reached a consensus. The weather channel had been blocked and John and Chris would no longer have access to it.

Later that morning as John and Chris dressed for work, Chris told John that he was pretty sure he could unblock it without any trouble.

That night they watched the new pregnant weather chick without a hitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, did anyone else see the blatant twincest in that Hulk Wolf? (Lou Ferrigno Hulk era, the best era IMHO) One twin presented himself (on his hands and knees) and then the other twin had to literally insert himself into his brother's body and then they became more than the sum total of their parts. My heavens! The slash practically writes itself. 
> 
> Also, my two best dads got nearly a full minute of on screen time together. Woo Hoo! Fangirl Squee!


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to go back and revise the previous chapter a couple of times to get it just right. Originally I made Chris out to be more of a jerk than I intended so I had to do some rewrites. I'm not completely satisfied but feel that the previous chapter now better suits the way I have chosen to characterize the Argenski relationship. I'm not sure if rereading the chapter is necessary, but you can if you like.

"So how should we do the rings?" Chris asked his partner as they shared breakfast at the Downtown Diner. "Should we get new ones or just use the ones we have? What do you think?"

Chris's plate was an overflowing tower of stuffed French toast with syrup and jelly and whipped cream and a double order of sausage. John was eating egg whites, turkey bacon and the fruit plate.

"Oh, I've got this." John said, face gleaming with pride. "I figured it out last night at the crime scene."

Chris gestured for John to continue.

"We don't have to do it this way, but if you want to think about it... You can let me know."

Chris reached over the table to pat John's hand in reassurance. "It's okay old man. Just tell me."

John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked down at his eggs. "We could take our rings from our first marriages—yours from Victoria and mine from Claudia—and we could melt them down together and have two new rings cast, from the combined metal of the old ones." John risked a glance up at Chris who wore a thoughtful expression.

"That is an excellent idea. So we're not giving up the love we had with our wives. They're still a part of who we are. But we can be brand new for each other too." Chris's eyes warmed. He squeezed John's hand and turned back to his French toast. "I'm onboard. Where do we take them? I'm ready when you are."

John let out a small sigh of relief. He took a bite of his egg whites then continued. "Stiles knows a guy. He's a friend of the pack or something. Anyway, he's a real jeweler, with a storefront and everything, just a couple of blocks down. We can go there after breakfast if you want. He said he could have them done in a couple of days."

Chris nodded. "Okay, after breakfast then."

"You haven't noticed anything weird with Stiles lately have you?" John asked with a furrowed brow.

"What do you mean? He always seems a little weird to me, but no more so than usual. Why?"

John breathed out through his teeth. "He doesn't seem to be gaining any weight to you?"

Chris screwed up his face. "No, can't say that he is. I may not have been paying real close attention though."

John nodded. "He's been throwing up a lot lately and I saw him trying to pull on a pair of jeans yesterday that fit him not three months ago. Only now they're too tight around the belly and he can't button them."

Chris raised his eyebrows in alarm.

"What?" John asked Chris, who knew a lot more about werewolves than he did. "What is it?"

"Has he been using the condoms you make him buy?"

John shook his head. "I'm not sure. I assume so. Why?"

Chris took a gulp of his coffee. "I'm not sure if Derek has discussed this with you, but...."

"What man! Spit it out!" John's adrenaline was rising and his patience was dwindling.

"With werewolves, male pregnancy can sometimes occur. Especially in mated pairs."

John shook his head. "No way Bull, that's just an urban myth."

"Sorry old man. It's possible. I think we need to have a family meeting with Derek and Stiles."

John pushed his plate away, appetite lost. "For Pete's sake Bull, I'm not ready to be a grand-dad. Are you?"

Chris shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't matter if you're ready or not. If a baby's on the way, we don't have a choice."

John took out his phone and composed a text to his son. He clicked send and then composed another one to Derek.

John drank a long draught of coffee and then looked Chris steady in the eye. "Let's both try to be home early tonight. We've got a lot to talk about."

 

The End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended this story with the popular and nearly ubiquitous trope of Stiles becoming pregnant. I did that as a joke. I don't plan to continue the story with a pregnant Stiles and two proud Grandpas, although if someone else did, I would totally read it. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for their encouragment! I will write something new eventually, but will first take a break between stories. You guys are the best! You really made writing this so much fun.


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